A Story of Love
by L'Ange de Mort
Summary: “From time to time certain bone structures are repeated without a blood tie. No human face is entirely unique, my dear. I daresay somewhere in the world there may be another poor devil who looks like me,” says Erik to Christine. How right he is.
1. Chapitre Un

**Disclaimer:** We don't need to tell you this, but you know, it's just here.  We don't own 'Phantom of the Opera', though we would like to. That belongs to Gaston Leroux and the rest of the wonderful (or not so wonderful… * coughcoughFORSYTHEcoughcough*…) geniuses who have brought this story to life.  Don't bother suing us; we don't make a penny off this. 

**Summary: **A phic exploring the possibility of another person sharing Erik's face.

****

A Story of Love: by Lady Death & L'Ange de Folie

*          *            *

The young couple known as Christine and Raoul de Chagny strolled calmly and slowly through the large, noisy fair ground.  They kept a slow, leisurely pace, content to just watch the organized chaos around them.  Children scurried here and there, giggling, laughing, and screaming in joy.  Christine and Raoul smiled as they saw the children, the thought of having their own was undeniably in both of their minds.  They walked through the crowds as if they hadn't a care in the world. 

It was a perfect day for a trip to the fair.  It was a beautiful, spring afternoon with a lovely, warm breeze barely perceptible.  The air was sweet and the smell of various meals and confections drifted lazily in the wind. 

"Oh! I love coming to fairs!" Christine exclaimed with a joyful giggle.  She couldn't resist hugging Raoul tightly in her excitement. "It reminds me of when we were children, and Papa and I would perform at them." 

"Yes, those were wonderful times," Raoul said, a handsome smile tugging at his lips. "Do you remember the first time I came to hear you sing?  I was so entranced that I forgot to look where I was walking.  I tripped and fell against the Fortune Teller's tent; knocking the whole thing down!"  He laughed at the memory. 

"And she was so angry!"  Christine managed to say through her uncontrollable mirth.  "She threatened to turn you into a toad!" 

"I have an idea, darling," Raoul announced, a fresh smile appearing on his face.  "What do you say to finding a fortune teller and asking what we should name our baby?" 

"I would say it's rather useless," Christine said sweetly.  "I already know what the name will be!" 

"Oh, you do? Why do I get the feeling I have no say in this whatsoever?"  Raoul asked in mock dread. 

"Because you don't." Christine grinned and wrapped her arm tightly around her husband's waist.  They kissed.  "Let's go anyway, Raoul.  We'll ask if it's a boy or a girl." 

He nodded in agreement and held out his hand.  "If I may escort Madame?" 

"Of course, Monsieur," Christine said, glanced over both shoulders and leaned down to Raoul.  "Though, I don't think my husband may approve…" 

They laughed uproariously and kissed again.  They began to walk over the large grassy field that served as the fairgrounds and over toward the lavishly decorated fortuneteller.  

However, they unwittingly walked past a dimly lit tent with a large queue at the entrance.  They took no notice to it until a barker shouted out a chilling advertisement. 

"COME AND SEE THE LIVING CORPSE!" 

Christine's blood turned to ice and she nearly swooned.  Raoul caught her and held her steady until she had regained her balance. 

"Christine? What's the matter?" His voice was tight with concern for his wife and unborn child. 

"Dear God, it can't be!" Christine breathed, not hearing Raoul. 

"What? Christine, what is it?" Raoul asked again, trying to calm his growing uneasiness. "I can't help if you don't-" 

Ignoring him entirely, she ran over to the large tent that the voice emanated from.  Christine didn't have to read the sign on the side to know that she was walking into the freak show gallery.   She began to push her way through the onlookers that had gathered excitedly around the entry. 

"HUMAN OR MONSTER? YOU BE THE JUDGE! ONLY-" 

"Christine!" Raoul's cry succeeded in tearing Christine's attention away from the tent and bringing her back to her senses.   His gaze darkened as he identified the tent and worriedly led Christine away from the ever-increasing crowd. "Now will you tell me what has gotten you so upset?" 

"Erik!" Christine gasped. 

"What?" Raoul's voice was a tad shaky as he glanced at the melee of people around them. Christine noted the look on his face and it was obvious that memories of the Phantom's torture chamber were still fresh in his mind.  He pulled her close to him. 

"Raoul, it's him… it has to be!" Christine cried, looking up into his blue eyes. 

Raoul realized instantly what she meant. "No, Christine, it's impossible! It can't be him." 

"Well then who, Raoul? There can't possibly be two of him!" she exclaimed, dashing back towards the tent. 

Christine fought her way through the throng of people.  After trying to politely ask her way through, she resorted to both elbows and shoving, much to her chagrin.  So involved in her task, she didn't even remind herself that a comtess shouldn't be going into such a degrading place, let alone shoving her way through a line. 

After a few moments of forcing her way through, she came to the entrance of the tent.  She reached into her handbag, handed the tent owner her charge of entry, and stepped inside.  She blinked several times to allow her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. 

Christine darted around the tent, feverishly looking for the poor individual that brought her into this foul place to begin with.  After a moment or so, she spotted a dozen or so people clustered around a small cage sitting atop a large crate in a smaller, annexed room to the tent.  Common sense told her that this was the main attraction and what she was looking for.  She felt her pulse begin to race again as she took a few hesitating steps toward the crowd. Biting her lip, she drew close and closer.  When she could see better, she gasped in both horror and relief.  The thing in the cage was not Erik. 

Crouched on the floor of the fetid wooden bottomed cage was a small boy.  He couldn't have been much older than 10 years old, but it wasn't his age that shocked Christine.  It was the boy's face!  It was nothing more than grayish skin stretched tightly over protruding bones.  His nose was nowhere to be seen, just a large, blackish hole. His eyes were sunken in and could not be seen at all; only a slight reflection of light in those empty sockets. 

"Just like Erik…" something whispered in the back of her mind. "This child looks just like Erik…" 

What brought tears to Christine de Chagny's eyes, however, were the bruises that covered his face and body.   She barely registered herself drifting closer, almost against her will, until only the bars separated them. 

"You poor thing…" Christine whispered tearfully. 

She saw now that the boy was painfully thin and his clothes could barely be recognized as clothes.  They were merely tattered rags.  He didn't look at her as Christine reached one hand between the metal bars and toward his face.  In fact, he looked as if he didn't even realize she was there; he just stared blankly ahead.  She reached closer and was nearly on the verge of touching the poor child when a man grabbed her roughly by the arm, pulling her away.  Her hand knocked against the bars and she winced briefly. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the man demanded in a thick, Italian accent that made him difficult to understand.  He gave her no chance to answer, but continued on. "Ladies should know better than to go around touching things that don't belong to them!" 

"Who do you think you are?" Christine asked loudly, trying to free her delicate arm from the man's burly, calloused hand. 

"The name is Aldo, Madame. I happen to own this fair," Aldo said, tightening his grasp. 

"Well then, Monsieur Aldo!" she replied, succeeding in wrenching her arm away from him. "You should know that the way this boy is being treated is appalling!" 

By this point, everyone in the dimly lit tent had taken their attention away from the attractions and focused on their quarrel. They were all deathly silent, listening to the woman defy the fair owner. 

*          *            *

Raoul de Chagny had snuck in unnoticed when he heard raised voices.  He had been temporarily stunned by the sight of the horrific looking thing in the cage, but was now fully recovered.  He made his way over to the front of the crowd in time to hear his wife demand the child's freedom. 

*          *            *

"Keeping him like this is positively inhuman!" Christine exclaimed, stomping a foot on the ground for emphasis. 

"I don't know who you think you are, but this creature is my property, and I'll do whatever I damn well please with it!" His gaze fell on the said 'creature', who was watching them intently with a mix of fear, curiosity and amazement on his battered face. 

"What are you looking at?" Aldo growled furiously.  As he raised a thick cane into view, the boy darted to the other side of the cage, as far out of reach as he could get.  Aldo nodded his head in satisfaction and lowered the stick. 

Christine's mouth fell open in silent fury. 

"You…beast!" she yelled, raising her hand as if to strike the man herself. 

Raoul suddenly stepped between the two, startling both.  Neither Aldo nor Christine had noticed his presence.   
  
"Please, monsieur…" he addressed the man. "I am sorry for any trouble my wife has caused…" 

"Ah! She's your wife then," Aldo snorted. "Well, I think you ought to keep her on a tighter leash!" 

"How dare you!" Christine cried in outrage, trying not to scream. 

"Darling, please… This isn't going to solve anything," Raoul insisted gently. "Please listen to me." 

_No, she_ thought. _ He's right.  Getting into a fight with this HORRIBLE man won't help the poor boy.  It might only make things worse.  But I must do something!  I can't just leave him like this… _She looked at the hunched over figure in the cage and felt tears well up behind her eyes.  She fought them back, determined to not let Raoul or the fair owner see them. 

She leaning down, she whispered to the child in the cage: "I'll get you help…" 

Without another word to Aldo or Raoul, she turned and stormed out of the tent.   


*          *            *

**A/N: **Like it?  Hate it?  Leave a nice little review and tell us what you think…  We're just setting the stage: there will be Erik in later chapters…  Also, we don't know what strange mental images or notions are being conceived about this phic, so out of security and paranoia, we would like to mention that this story is most definitely _not _slash.  


	2. Chapitre Deux

**Disclaimer:** We don't need to tell you this, but you know, it's just here.  We don't own 'Phantom of the Opera', though we would like to. That belongs to Gaston Leroux and the rest of the wonderful (or not so wonderful… * coughcoughFORSYTHEcoughcough*…) geniuses who have brought this story to life.  Don't bother suing us; we don't make a penny off this. 

**Summary:** A phic exploring the possibility of another person sharing Erik's face.

A Story of Love by Lady Death & L'Ange de Folie  
  
A/N: Ooh! Thank you to everyone who reviewed! It really encourages us! Thank you, thank you, thank you!! 

*          *            *

ONE WEEK LATER:   
PARIS 

_Is there even a point to life anymore…?  I didn't think so…I could kill myself and end this torture, you know… so easily… so simple… All I would have to do would be to ingest the poison in this vial and it would be all over.  What does it matter now? Christine is gone… What more do I have left to live for…?_

In the bowels of the 5th cellar, under the Paris Opera House, Erik made a sound of disgust at his own thoughts. He immediately realized where his dangerous musings were carrying him and hastily turned away from that gloomy place in his mind. He violently shoved the vial into his pocket as a wave of consuming anger swept over him.  He feared that the small thing would be shattered in his hands or thrown against the wall if it wasn't put out of sight quickly. He hissed softly and brooded. 

_Pull yourself together, Erik, _he thought_. Stop acting like a child; be an adult and shoulder your burden.  Ride it out… Don't destroy yourself over a stupid girl…! _

He nearly sobbed and fought growing nausea for a few moments, hunching over wretchedly on his divan. 

_No Christine, I don't mean that… I'm sorry…_

He took several, deep, cleansing breaths attempting to regain his composure. 

_It's time to move on. There is nothing you can do about anything now. Move on. _

After several, long moments, he decided he was feeling relatively better and essentially functional - or at least as close as he would ever be.  In an attempt to clear his mind, Erik rose from his present place and walked toward his imposing organ. 

There was always music, always.  It was always there to calm and comfort him.  Always there to let him vent his emotion – which was exactly what he was going to do.  Music was the safest way to let out his feelings – and the house was empty now, what did it matter?  He sat down and began to ensconce himself in glorious, melancholy music. 

Music.  It never betrayed him.  It was a soothing constant in life, perpetually waiting for him to return.  It never shunned him; it never judged him by his face.  Who could ask for a better companion when one had a visage like…

Best not think of that, now… 

Erik poured his soul into this session of playing.  He just wanted to forget.  He wanted to bury his grief deeply, if not for just for a short time.  He lost himself completely in the notes, each phrase and measure whirling around him in a dizzying melee of beauty.  All else seemed a trifle compared to his current state being, but somehow a small voice pierced through his sanctuary of sound. 

"ERIK!" A yell shattered his solitude. "Erik, please, I know you're here!" 

The man in question immediately stopped playing.  Silence pervaded the cellars, hitting him like a sudden, horrendous migraine. The last notes of organ echoed eerily off the stone walls of the cellar. 

"You must be here…" the voice said, much more softly now.  Erik's sharp hearing picked out the voice as being feminine. 

_What was that?_

He stilled his breathing, listening intently. 

"ERIK!" 

_There it was again!_ He thought. _It sounds almost as if someone were calling my name…_

He hesitantly brushed it aside, suddenly becoming aware of his stomach twisting in knots.   He shook his head and placed his hands on the keys of the organ, attempting to recapture the musical passion he had just danced to. 

"I really must get some fresh air," Erik uneasily rationalized with himself. "I'm starting to hear things." 

As he tenderly stroked the keys, he heard the voice again, louder this time, familiar and unmistakable. "Erik! I have to speak with you!" 

_Christine!_ His mind immediately made the connection between voice and face. _What on earth is she doing here?_

After a moment, a thought hit him straight on that made his whole being quiver.

_Could she have changed her mind? …Please… Let her have changed her mind! _Erik silently pleaded.  The moment that concept was conceived he threw it aside.

_But… why would she come back? _The memory of asking Christine to return after he died hopped promptly into his thoughts, and he furrowed his brow.  He most certainly wasn't dead, and since that happy little event hadn't quite occurred yet, she would have no reason to return, then…

"It's certainly not to visit you," Erik whispered contemptuously to himself. 

 He chewed on his lip as he attempted to dam the flood of sorrow and shame that was almost succeeding to overflow.  It had only been two months since… since Christine left, and yet he was still aggravated with the way that the mere thought of her or of what had happened could reduce him to such an emotional state.  He gnawed harder.

He held his head in his hands, feeling too dejected and devastated to avoid touching his naked, unmasked face.  He absentmindedly brushed his fingers over his malformed lips and let out a ragged sigh. Hot tears began welling up in his eyes and he furiously scrubbed away the salty droplets with angry fists.  

"ERIK!" Christine shouted again, sounding less confident than before.

But…but what if…What if she…  but what if she truly has a reason?

Erik continued to rest at the organ, focusing on staunching the flow of tears.  

What if…?

A hundred uncontrollable, unwelcome thoughts whirled through his mind, almost making him lightheaded. He slowly stood up, trying to calm his suddenly bout of shaking.   
  
_Better see what she wants, at least… Can't leave her standing out in the cold…_  
  
Erik instinctively picked up his mask and dispassionately tied it to his face. 

What if…? 

Unexpectedly, he bolted toward the door, barely managing to equip himself with his lasso, hat and cloak as he ran out. 

*          *         *

Erik rowed swiftly and silently across the lake.  The inky black waters rippled gently as his boat glided through. 

_Could she have truly returned to me? Or is it something else?  _He wondered, his heart pounding furiously in his chest.  He gasped softly as he realized how fast his pulse was racing.  It was a wonder Christine couldn't hear it from the other side of the lake. 

Erik reached the other side of the lake in what seemed to take less than a heartbeat.  He decided it was due to being lost in thought.  He glanced up from the water and up at the ever approaching dock.  His heart leaped as he saw a familiar cloaked figure standing restlessly on the bank. However, as he drifted closer, that said heart plummeted painfully down as he saw a glint of gold on one of her fingers.  All hopes were dashed as he got even closer and that gold glint was indeed a ring… one that certainly wasn't his. An underlining feeling of nausea returned as he furthered his inspection and realized that that was most definitely a wedding ring. 

His original thoughts returned, filling him with grief and confusion.

 If Christine is married, why did she bother coming back? 

*          *             * 

"Erik, please!" she shouted one last time.  She listened hard in the dark, cavernous expanse but could hear no response from across the lake: no door opening, no reply, and no materialization of Erik.  Even the sound of his organ across the lake again would be a welcome sound.  It made the gloom so much more bearable. She had never really come down here by herself.  Erik was always there with her, guiding her steps and talking with her.  Right now, the silence was terrifying her. 

_Is he dead?_ She thought grimly to herself.  But she threw aside that notion quickly. _No, he's not dead. You heard him playing several moments ago…  _It was sensible enough. But thinking about that made her heart pound.  _What if he's had another one of his attacks?_ _There's no one to care for him!   _She felt a quiet panic that was steadily growing._  Please let him be all right…_

_Should I just leave him alone then? _ Christine thought a few moments later, her heart pounding.  _Maybe he doesn't want to talk to me…_

"You're going to ruin your voice if you keep shouting like that, my dear." 

Christine nearly screamed from the sudden break of silence and tension. She instantly recognized that familiar, beautiful, yet now strangely weary voice.  She whirled around, suddenly becoming more fearful in his presence that she was in his absence. 

She took a deep breath or two to steady her nerves. "Oh, you are here!  I was getting worried." She tried not to wring the fabric of her cloak with her hands, to betray her mix of emotion. 

"Why?" Erik asked dully, docking his boat. 

She paused for a moment, watching him at his task.  "Well, when you didn't answer I-I thought that something might have happened to you." 

"I'm perfectly fine," Erik said curtly, deliberately testing the knot to the boat's rope. He straightened up. 

_He doesn't look 'perfectly fine,' _Christine observed. _He's so thin… You'd think he hasn't eaten since I last saw him…_

She quickly averted her eyes, suddenly remembering why she had made the journey down here in the first place. 

"Erik, I need help…" Christine asked timidly. 

"Why come to me then?" Erik asked, sounding rather harsh. "Can't your precious comte do anything?  He always seemed to be anxious to help you, if I recall correctly." 

"Raoul tried! We both did! But there is nothing we can do!" Christine cried. She glanced down at her feet, hoping that her mentor would not see the tears she was trying to fight back. 

He took a slow, uncertain step forward.  She heard his voice soften while his entire demeanor changed.  "Has someone hurt you?"  

"Not me…" she paused briefly before relating to him what had happened one week prior in detail; the events that had led to her return to his subterranean home.  She purposely excluded any fine points involving her life with Raoul.  That would only cause him unnecessary pain…

After her story had drawn to a close, Christine waited in silence for Erik's reaction. She watched the black-cloaked figure carefully, but it looked as if he hadn't moved even an inch during her narrative.  When he did nothing to break the silence, she continued to speak. 

"Raoul went back there the next evening and offered to buy the boy from Aldo-" she noticed Erik's hands clench tightly. "-But he refused." 

Christine decided she had said enough on the subject.  She continued to wait for a response of some sort from Erik. 

"Are you all right?" she asked in concern, realizing that Erik was breathing in deep, ragged gasps.  She took a cautious step forward and laid a hand gently on his shoulder, hoping perhaps to offer him some comfort.  Erik started violently at her touch and stepped back with all the agility of a cat.  He finally raised his gaze from the damp stone floor and focused his burning, golden eyes onto hers. 

"And so you came to me for help," Erik asked bitterly. "What do you expect me to do, Madame?" 

Erik turned away from her and stared into the water.

*          *            *

_So my appearance is not as unique as I previously thought…  And the boy is locked in a cage of all things!  How dare they?  Well, I daresay that can do things like that; they did it to me after all… But you simply can't leave him there, Erik! You are worse than they are if you do nothing!_

 Erik growled under his breath. 

_I wonder how long he's been in that cage…_

He felt a surge of hatred for Aldo, remembering his own "master", his own cage.

 _Perhaps if anyone had helped me to get away from Javert earlier on, I wouldn't have killed him… Perhaps I might have never killed anyone…_

A different perspective in his thoughts surfaced.

_There you are. You have the power to help him.  Don't let him grow up to become cold and cynical like yourself.  You're not happy, are you? You've never been happy…Let him have a chance.  He should have the chance you never got…!_

He tried to push away the bitter recollections of his wasted youth, but new uncontrolled thoughts forced their way into his mind. 

No, Erik.  Leave the boy there.  He's not of your concern.  If you suffered, he should suffer as well. It's only fair.  Survival of the fittest, you might say.  Don't go up into the light.  You promised you'd never leave your sanctuary again and you meant it.  You promised yourself.  Are you going to break that promise?  You're safe here, here in the darkness.  Just listen to reason!  Just listen to yourself!  Have you ever been wrong?

Erik shook his head angrily.  He looked back at his former student.  "What time does the next train leave?" 

*          *            *

  
**A/N:** Like it? Hate it? Leave a review…!  Hopefully Erik doesn't sound too out of character… He's not necessarily the easiest character to write, but we're trying…  


	3. Chapitre Trois

**Disclaimer:** We don't need to tell you this, but you know, it's just here.  We don't own 'Phantom of the Opera', though we would like to. That belongs to Gaston Leroux and the rest of the wonderful (or not so wonderful… * coughcoughFORSYTHEcoughcough*…) geniuses who have brought this story to life.  Don't bother suing us; we don't make a penny off this. 

**Summary: **A phic exploring the possibility of another person sharing Erik's face.

A Story of Love by Lady Death & L'Ange de Folie

*          *            *

Raoul de Chagny anxiously paced the floor to one of the spacious rooms in the de Chagny manor. He had received word from Christine earlier that day that Erik had agreed to help her. If he had made all the calculations correctly, they should be arriving any moment now. These moments by himself were torture, however. He knew that Christine and that… monster were by themselves. Who knew what he could be doing to her? Why had he ever allowed her to go on this idiotic quest? 

"And why did she have to go to him?" he asked aloud. "The man kidnapped her, murdered my brother, nearly killed me, and she goes to him for help!" With a sigh, he sat down on the couch. "It's not fair."   
  
Raoul sat quietly now, mulling over memories and feelings he thought he had long since buried. _I don't understand her much lately… Or HIM,_ Raoul thought, feeling rather irritated. _I've never understood him… That masked madman is dangerous! I thought he would be dead by now…_

_I don't understand why she feels that way for him._   
  
Raoul stood up and paced the length of the room_. Does she still love him? What if she does? No.  She's only going to him for help.  There's no other reason conceivable. And I trust her.  I know Christine loves me._

He stopped pacing for only a second. 

_And yet, she had loved him, hadn't she? But… how could she love him? He's violent, insane, a murderer, an extortionist, and… and he manipulated her. It's beyond comprehension…but she did love him… As impossible as it is to believe, I think she really did love him then.  But she loves me, and I love her,_ Raoul reassured himself. _I know she loves me._  
  
Raoul nodded, satisfied, and sat back down on the couch. 

_But still… why did she have to go find him? Is it so important that he know?  It's just a boy – a boy in a cage. Certainly, it is dreadful to see anything treated such - but what could she possibly expect to do? We tried talking to that Aldo fellow and he has refused.  There was nothing more that could be done. It wasn't as if we could steal the boy! Unless, that's why she has gone to Erik… But then, why him…? And why wouldn't she tell me her plan? Did she not trust me?_

Raoul's frustration flared again. _It's just so confusing – and it's just not fair!_

Raoul's ability to sit still suddenly seemed to vanish again and he began to prowl through the room; lost in his thoughts. 

At that moment, he heard the sounds of a carriage rolling up outside the manor. 

  
He instinctively rose and straightened out his jacket. With a steadying breath, he stepped out into the hallway and toward the door. He was too eager to see his wife than to wait for a servant to bring her to him. 

  
 He noticed there was really no need as Christine was flying down the hallway and straight towards him. 

"Raoul!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. She hugged him tight, and Raoul noticed with chagrin that she left the ornate door open in her excitement. However, his smile faded as he saw a dark figure step over the threshold. 

"I missed you!" Christine giggled, tilting her head up and kissing her husband. 

The door closed. 

Christine pulled quickly away from Raoul and turned to look at the solemn man shifting around uncomfortably in the entrance. 

"I believe you two are already acquainted," Christine stated quietly. 

"Of course," Erik affirmed coldly. 

"Monsieur," Raoul muttered, giving a stiff formal bow.

Erik briefly returned the gesture and both Christine and Raoul could tell that it was only out of formality and not respect. 

  
The two men's eyes met and there was an unspoken agreement to attempt to stay out of each other's way.  Both knew that it would be disastrous and internally, they both knew that it would hurt Christine above all and neither wanted to do that.

"I'll go prepare a room for you, Erik," Christine said softly, breaking the silence. "Then we must figure out what we're going to do." She watched the two for a few short moments and the hurried off to complete her task. 

Raoul and Erik stood alone in the dimly lit room – and Raoul could not take his eyes off him. 

Erik silently walked over toward the large bay windows that overlooked the ocean.

_No, he doesn't walk,_ Raoul noticed with morbid fascination. He drifted, just like a ghostly phantom. Raoul could easily see how he got that infamous name. 

He continued to stare with vulgar curiosity, unable to tear his gaze away. Whether it was because he didn't trust the masked man out of his sight or because his fascination was glued to him, he couldn't guess. 

_I've never really gotten a very good look at him before. My, he's tall… and so thin! …Those hands are positively inhuman… _Raoul thought in bewilderment. _I've never seen him above ground in broad daylight…it feels so odd…_

Raoul slowly became aware that Erik was staring right back at him. 

"I would appreciate it if you would please stop staring at me, monsieur…" Erik said, his voice deathly quiet. After a short second, he added bitterly, "I may have to charge you for a private viewing." 

Raoul threw his gaze to the nearest bookcase in heated embarrassment at being caught. He tried to fight the blush he could slowly feel consuming his face. After he was convinced he had it under control, he couldn't resist another glance toward Erik's direction. 

He did so and was surprised to find Erik had moved across the room and had taken a seat the first available chair, his hands in a steeple before his closed eyes. Raoul hadn't even heard him move! 

  
He sighed and began to pace the room, trying to decide what he would say to the brooding man in black. 

But, how did one start a conversation with... the Opera Ghost? 

Luckily, he didn't have to think hard or for very long. Christine quietly slipped back into the room and sighed softly 

  
"Erik?" she asked softly, looking in his direction. "It's getting awfully late… If you'd like, we can get started in the morning… " 

Erik said nothing, but got up from his seat and stood there, staring out the large windows at the rapidly disappearing sun on the Breton coast. He seemed to be silently pondering some secret thing and Christine thought that perhaps he hadn't heard her. However, she held her tongue until Erik turned around. 

"Yes… Yes, that might be best," he said gently. 

Without so much as a word or a glance at Raoul, Erik followed Christine out of the room…   And Raoul was left alone once more.

*          *            *

A/N: Like it, hate it? Leave a review, please? We love all the ones we've been getting so far! Hope you like this interpretation of Raoul – we like him…


	4. Chapitre Quatre

**Disclaimer:** We don't need to tell you this, but you know, it's just here.  We don't own 'Phantom of the Opera', though we would like to. That belongs to Gaston Leroux and the rest of the wonderful (or not so wonderful… * coughcoughFORSYTHEcoughcough*…) geniuses who have brought this story to life.  Don't bother suing us; we don't make a penny off this. 

**Summary: **A phic exploring the possibility of another person sharing Erik's face.

A Story of Love by Lady Death & L'Ange de Folie  
A/N: Er, sorry about lack of updates – if you're all still there. You all know the problems that prevent uploading: school, homework, extracurricular activites, and Fanfiction.net itself down… Anyway! Here's the next chapter! Enjoy it!  It's a little interlude from what semblance of plot there currently is, but it'll pick up in the next chapter or so…

*          *          *

Raoul tossed and turned in his bed. Though it was nearly midnight, the comte was unable to close his eyes for one moment. Sleep was an unthinkable activity while that… that… madman was in his house…! 

No one watching him, he could be doing anything! He could be pilfering the family fortune, making expensive paintings disappear or… something! The thought of what Erik was doing plagued him to no end.   
_At least Christine is here beside me,_ Raoul thought, suddenly feeling extremely protective of his wife. __

Christine… 

He'd probably wake her with all his fidgeting!  He couldn't do that… This was the only decent sleep that Christine had gotten since that disastrous trip to the fair. He remembered that he didn't get much sleep either. She had always been climbing in and out of bed, pacing the room and sighing. Many times, Raoul had asked Christine what was on her mind, and it was always either Erik or that boy at the fair. It made him feel a little jealous. They were safely married and she was still thinking about that man under the opera…

Well, that didn't matter now… She was sleeping quietly and that was all that mattered. If she starting sleeping on a consistent basis again, Christine and their child would be right as rain. 

At length, Raoul slipped silently out of bed, pulled on a robe and snuck quietly out of the room. He quietly paced house, cautiously trying not to wake the servants. As he walked by his door for nearly the seventh time, Raoul decided that he needed something to better occupy his time. So, as quietly as he could, the young comte crept up the stairs and into the attic of the immensely large manor. 

Raoul wasn't sure what motivated him to climb up into the attic and find his old violin. His mind was reflecting back to the days when he and Christine were children; when they'd listen to Daddy Daae tell them stories about fairies and when Raoul took violin lessons from the old musician. The violin was the only thing he had at the moment that could help relive those memories. He recognized this as a way to clear his mind and perhaps find sleep and searched for the instrument with more vigor. Besides, it would be interesting to see if he had retained any of the knowledge he had learned. 

He decided that if he found himself to be any good, perhaps he'd play for Christine… once Erik had left. Just thinking about him brought an involuntary shiver up his spine and he shuddered as the shadows in the attic danced menacingly in the candlelight. 

_ Stop thinking about him,_ Raoul scolded himself, as he looked through dusty trunks. 

As he located the trunk that contained the item he had been looking for, Raoul glanced over his shoulder and warily stepped toward the trunk in question - suddenly aware of every last shadow in the room. He gasped quietly as he thought he noticed them advancing on him. 

_Stop being silly, Raoul,_ he thought nervously. 

He straightened up and bravely walked toward the trunk. He gently lifted the case out of its resting place and brushed the dust off the top. 

There's nothing to be afraid of in this house… 

…Except the man downstairs… 

Raoul forced all thoughts of Erik from his mind and replaced them with the effort of trying to remember how to hold the instrument.   


* * *

Between the unbearably bright moonlight (it was a full moon), the sounds of insects, and his uncontrollable thoughts, Erik found himself completely unable to sleep. Oh, the bed was comfortable enough, it was infinitely more relaxing than sleeping in that coffin, but it was just… everything else. Years and years of sleeping below ground had conditioned him to the blackness… the silence… Really… Had Erik not been so unbelievably tired, he would have found the situation utterly amusing. But instead, the emotion of the day was catching up to him and he wanted nothing more than to sleep… 

But rest he could not find. His mind continued to cycle through bothering thoughts and ideas. When he had seen Raoul and Christine together when he first entered the manor, he couldn't help but feel as if he had been punched in the stomach. It had been the first time he had seen the two in the same room since… the incident. Even though he was the one who sent them both off, Erik still felt saddened over their marriage. When he thought of the two, his mind moved onto the next batch of thoughts: why he dragged himself from his sanctuary to this… place. 

That boy… that boy in that cage… he was probably still there, huddled in the darkness. Erik frowned to himself. What was he going to do when they found him? That child would be scarred for life, no doubt about it, and he didn't want another 'little Erik' running around. The world couldn't handle that… But suppose he's not, what then? Did Christine expect him to make everything all better? True, he was usually good - excellent, even - in most situations, but this…this was different. It was almost too private a thing to discuss. It was almost like reliving his childhood. 

The thought of his childhood and past suddenly made him extremely tired, more than before. He didn't want to start thinking about that. It hurt to think about it and he did not want to start, especially before bed… that always induced nightmares. Christine would probably hear him, come find him, and ask questions he didn't want to answer. 

Finally, ready to do anything to sleep, Erik dragged himself out of the bed, closed the drapes on the windows and crawled into the darkest place he could think of in the room: the closet. He curled up in a corner, yawned, and pulled his cloak around himself. He viciously cleared his mind and replaced it with a soft, quiet, relaxing Beethoven piece of music. 

Suddenly, everything felt more like home and he couldn't fight his drooping eyelids. 

*          *          *__

Some time later, Erik's eyes shot open irritably as he heard a long, faint, whining shriek coming from somewhere above him. He groaned in annoyance and pulled anything he could over his head to block out that grating sound that made his hair stand on end. It didn't work and the noise sure wasn't stopping. After a few moments, he noticed that he recognized a butchered, distorted tune in the screeches… Erik shuddered painfully. That wasn't music. That was the sound of an abused instrument screaming for deliverance.   
With a muttered oath, Erik rose from his resting place and climbed out of the closet and into the large room Christine provided for him. He turned reluctantly away from his sleeping area and pulled on something to make himself look a little more dignified. After his mask was in place, he stalked out of his room and followed that shrill, agonized cry of a string instrument. 

After several long moments of searching and sharp, twisting pain on his ears, he was convinced that the creator of such racket should be drawn and quartered. Before Erik's mind could devise any more ways of torture, he found the attic door and the source of the sound. 

As he opened the door, the shrieking became louder. He resisted the urge to cover his ears. He took great pains to stay silent as he walked up the narrow stairway. 

_It won't matter_, Erik convinced himself. _That infernal noise is so loud up here… _

As he neared the top of the staircase, the screeching became almost unbearable and Erik felt he would pass out from the abuse to his senses. 

When he reached the top, he was completely unprepared for the sight of the Comte de Chagny kneeling in the dust, clutching an equally dusty violin. 

*          *          *

Raoul nearly jumped out of his skin has he heard a burst of laughter behind him. 

"What in God's name are you doing?"   
Raoul's face flushed red and many other interesting colors as he recognized the voice. What was he doing up here in the middle of the night? Raoul shuddered and laid the violin down on the floor. 

He stood and turned to face the man in the doorway. Erik golden eyes blazed in the darkness and Raoul had to suppress a shiver. He decided that Erik was much more terrifying in the dark. Those eyes didn't look like they belonged to anything mortal… He looked like some demon from the abyss. Raoul tried not to shiver again. 

"I might ask you the same question, Monsieur," he asked, trying to sound cold and distant. Instead of sounding intimidating and in control, Raoul's voice came out as a nervous squeak, not unlike the sounds his violin had made seconds before. Taking a breath and regaining his composure, he added, "Do you always lurk in people's attics at night?" 

Erik laughed chillingly and stepped into the dim lighting. 

"I have no reason to lurk in attics, Monsieur le Comte, nor do I have any interest in it." 

Erik took a small step forward and Raoul couldn't help but take a step back. Raoul noticed those golden eyes flicker down to the abandoned violin.   
"What?" Raoul demanded and nearly scrambled backwards as Erik continued to move forward. 

_What is he doing?_ Raoul thought, panicked. _I told Christine he was dangerous, but did she listen? _

Raoul nearly sighed in relief when the Opera Ghost stopped moving, but tensed again when Erik reached down to pick up the old violin. 

"Such a beautiful instrument…" he heard Erik murmur softly. Raoul watched in fascination as those long fingers gently brushed dust off the dull wooden finish and bring the violin into a playing position. He brought the bow up to play and clucked his tongue disapprovingly at the first note. 

"Monsieur, this violin is horribly out of tune," Erik said in a patronizing sort of way. Before Raoul could make any excuses, complain, or say a word, Erik took a seat on the nearest trunk and began to tune the instrument. 

Raoul did nothing but watch in awe as Erik quickly, efficiently, yet very lovingly attended to the violin. The moment he was finished, he played a brief, simple melody. The silence hung in the air. 

Erik glanced up at Raoul briefly. "Your control of the bow, by the way, Monsieur, is atrocious." 

Raoul attempted to glare at such blatant rudeness, but couldn't bring himself to. From just the very little he had seen tonight, knew he was in the presence of a master violinist and should hold his tongue. 

"You should play on the edge of your bow," Erik continued and illustrated his point with a quick note. "And don't apply so much pressure… You should play gently until your notes sound better…" Erik's voice drifted off and he slowly began to weave notes together into a haunting, sobering melody. As Erik played, Raoul noticed his strength seem to disappear. He silently sat on the floor and stared up at the older man with wide eyes and an open mouth, his attention utterly fixed. Had Raoul not been so enthralled, he would have noticed an eerie, twisted similarity between this current scene and the scenes that played out long ago with Daddy Daae. 

It wasn't long before the haunting melody subtly changed to a soothing lullaby and then slowly disappeared into nothing. Raoul had long fallen asleep, weariness finally catching up to him, coaxed by the music. 

As the violin played its last notes, Erik yawned. After caressing the old violin once more, he laid both bow and instrument down next to the slumbering young man. He stood, stretched out his tired limbs, and slowly but silently, trod down the stairs and back to his closet.   
  
*          *          *

A/N: Like it? Hate it? Leave a review and we'll love you forever!  We hope no one was bored; we enjoy getting Raoul and Erik to interact together without constantly trying to kill each other… And…. The formatting? Er, we're trying…


	5. Chapitre Cinq

**Disclaimer:** We don't need to tell you this, but you know, it's just here.  We don't own 'Phantom of the Opera', though we would like to. That belongs to Gaston Leroux and the rest of the wonderful (or not so wonderful… * coughcoughFORSYTHEcoughcough*…) geniuses who have brought this story to life.  Don't bother suing us; we don't make a penny off this. __

**Summary: **A phic exploring the possibility of another person sharing Erik's face.

****

**A Story of Love**  By Lady Death & L'Ange de Folie

(A/N:  Sorry, the formatting is being insane…)  
  
*          *            *

The next morning, Christine waited for Erik to emerge from his room.   
  


She waited patiently in one of the front rooms, half-heartedly skimming over a dull novel she selected at random from a bookcase. She didn't actually read, but was focusing all her concentration toward listening for any sounds of movement or life upstairs. No such luck. She waited, but heard nothing at all. One hour crawled slowly by in uncomfortable silence.   
  


Two hours.   
  


Then three hours.   
  


Christine frowned, feeling a little concerned. She stood up, placing the book on a nearby table. Shaking her head, she assumed he'd overslept. Unsure what to do, she took a gamble and decided to go up and fetch him herself.   
  


_Does Erik really sleep, though?_ Christine asked herself. _Well, oversleep I mean. He's a rather light sleeper and… doesn't really sleep all that much… _

She continued to frown and she climbed the stairs. Lost in her odd musings, she rounded a corner and literally crashed into someone.   
  


Shouting in surprise, she scrambled away from the wreck, instantly wondering if she had hit Erik. It was very possible, Erik made little or no sound when he walked and moved and she definitely could have hit him. She glanced up in panic and sighed in relief when she saw a mess of ruffled blond hair.   
  


She exhaled sharply. "Raoul? What are you doing up here?"   
  


Raoul blinked, looking rather dazed. "I was just leaving the attic."   
  


It was Christine's turn to blink in surprise. "The attic? But why?"   
  


Raoul quietly looked at Christine and shook his head. "It's of little concern." He sounded a little unsure, but Christine let it slide. He yawned. "I'm going downstairs to get dressed. I'll see you in a little bit, dear. Then we can… get to work." His brow furrowed and he got up from the floor. He yawned again and stumbled down the stairs.   
  


Christine shook her head feeling a little confused over Raoul's behavior. She attributed it to her husband's late night. She did feel him tossing and turning in bed last night and she concluded that he hadn't slept well. But why had he been up in the attic? She sighed and continued on her way to Erik's room.   
  


As she neared the door, she couldn't help but bite her lip. This hall was in a more remote part of the house, away from the servant's quarters and away from her own room. She thought that Erik wouldn't mind being so secluded. This wing of the manor didn't scare her at all, but knowing that Erik was in there almost tempted her to stay away. Wouldn't he come out in his own due time? He wouldn't really want her to come barging in…   
  


She felt a strange feeling of impending doom as she continued to move closer. The door, seeming so ordinary before now seemed to be the gateway that led to hell. Christine tried to quiet her mind of such thoughts. She shook her head and attempted to untwist her stomach, which was now threatening to tie itself into knots.   
  


_You're just being silly._ Christine thought. _Bother, what's the worst he could do? It's not like he would… hurt me._   
Christine took a deep breath and before her mind could scream out another warning, she rapped lightly, almost hesitantly on the door.    
  


"Erik?" she called gently.   
  


No answer.   
  


Christine knocked again, a little louder and called once more, thinking that perhaps he hadn't heard.   
  


_That's absurd,_ Christine. _You know very well his hearing is better than most. He would hear that… _

  
Again, there was no response. She bit her lip. What now? Was he sleeping? Was he hurt? The thought jumped out from her melee of ideas and her heart pounded. What if he had had another attack? She continued to chew on her lip. Images of Erik lying motionless on the floor bombarded her mind and made her stomach want to turn. She laid her ear against the door.   
  


Well, there wasn't any harm in trying… her mind returned to an earlier thought.   
  


_What is the worst he'd do?_

  
Taking a deep breath, she quickly turned the doorknob and was surprised to find it unlocked. Feeling bewildered, she stepped inside and found the room completely empty. Her eyes glanced over the bed and she saw that it had been immaculately made.   
  


_What if he left?_ Christine thought frantically. _Where could he have gone? I would have seen him if he had left! _

  
Another part of her mind answered back_. Silly girl! You know very well that no one sees Erik unless he wants them to.  But… why would he leave?_   
  


Christine turned to run back into the hall and call for Raoul. She didn't know what he would do, she knew that Raoul would care minimally, but…   
  


…She almost screamed as she ran headlong into Erik, who had evidentially been standing right behind her. She stumbled backwards, unused to being in such close proximity with him. Had Erik not been wearing the mask, Christine would have see a small, amused smile playing across his face.   
  


"You nearly scared me to death!" she exclaimed in shock, collapsing into a chair. "Why were you standing there?"   
  


"I might ask you the same question," Erik asked coolly, folding his arms underneath his cloak.   
"Oh!" Christine replied, taking a breath to regain her composure. "I came looking for you. I started to wonder when you never came out."   
  


Erik nodded his head.   
  


"I am sorry," he murmured. He looked as if he would say something more, but sounded as if he had overridden whatever he was going to say with something else. "We had best be getting downstairs… I'm sure your husband will be wondering what is taking so long." Christine heard suppressed bitterness in her voice and suddenly felt a pang of guilt.   
  


Christine bobbed her head and led the way back to the sitting room. Erik followed silently behind as usual, but she could tell that something was weighing on his mind and for some reason; she knew that she'd never be able to understand.   
  
__

 Christine frowned at Erik's demeanor. _Is he as anxious about this as I am? Or perhaps… it's something else… Have I upset him?_   
  


They continued to walk in silence, Christine feeling as if she was unable to say a word to the man following behind her. She dearly wished to, but it seemed as if her vocal chords did not want to work. She sensed an almost imperceptible uneasiness about Erik and it felt very disconcerting in her opinion. She also noticed as they moved further on, she could feel his quiet distress diffusing into her own being.

  
They finally reached ground floor sitting room, to Christine's relief. She sat gingerly down into the nearest chair. Erik chose to stand and stare outside one of the large windows and into the garden. She felt him relax a little and in turn, she felt a little more comfortable. 

  
To be truthful, Christine hadn't even planned beyond getting Erik to Chagny Manor. She had decided that just getting this far would be an ordeal in itself and had chosen to take the whole project in steps. Well, now she had come to the end of her plan and had nowhere to go. With this part accomplished, Christine suddenly felt uncertain. Perhaps she had just assumed that Erik would know what to do and take over from here. However, seeing how Erik had been so quiet and withdrawn as of late, it seemed very unlikely. It looked as if she'd have to keep going at this, then. 

  
As Christine tried to spark an idea on how to proceed with the rescue, but nothing would come. Planning was never her strongest suit… She shook her head.

   
_I'm sure Erik will definitely want to see the boy himself…_ Christine thought to herself. _…But that would mean going to the fair… _She gnawed delicately on her lip. _He told me himself that he despises them… _

  
She wasn't sure if that was wise, taking Erik to the fair. He was known for his temper and she didn't want any sort of scene… any public spectacle would drawn unwanted attention and that was something they didn't need happening… But, Erik would have more common sense than that, wouldn't he? 

  
_And yet,_ Christine thought_. If he wants to go, you can't very well stop him_.   
  


"Erik?" she inquired softly and tried to keep her voice from jumping as Erik turned to her, his masked face regarding her calmly. "Do you mean to attend the fair today?" 

  
Erik was silent for a long time before he responded, sounding resigned. 

  
"Of course. It seems I haven't a choice." 

  
Christine nodded, trying not to betray her tumultuous emotions. 

  
Raoul chose this moment to enter the room. He held a steaming cup of hot tea in both hands and had opened his mouth to greet Christine. 

  
He suddenly snapped it shut as he caught sight Erik. Raoul immediately crossed the room towards Christine and stood beside his wife. As she watched Raoul with his tea, she suddenly remembered that she hadn't had anything to eat all morning. She lifted her eyes to glance at Erik and to see if he wanted something to eat, but quickly closed her mouth.   
  


Raoul had put himself between Erik and herself. Raoul glared at Erik in an open display of distrust, and Christine saw Erik's eyes glitter in what looked like amusement. The three stood there, (or sat in Christine's case) for an unbearably painful amount of time. Time continued to pass and finally the tension was so thick and oppressive that Christine wanted to scream. At length, she cleared her throat to break the silence.   
  


"Erik and I are going to the fair, dear," she said, almost laughing at the suddenly look of shock registering on Raoul's face. "Would you like to come with us?" She pleaded silently, hoping that Raoul would come. Should Erik loose control, she didn't relish the idea of trying to retrain him all by herself. Raoul was rather strong, despite the way he looked. He was a sailor, after all… He'd be of good use…   
  


…She almost smiled. If she and Erik were going, Raoul wouldn't let them go by themselves as long as he had breath. _Of course he'll come… My adorably overprotective husband, _she giggled inwardly at the title, _is not going to leave his pregnant wife alone in the company of an admitted murderer_. For all Raoul's flaws, she still loved him dearly.   
  


Raoul scrutinized Erik for half a second before he looked Christine in the eyes.   
  


"Certainly, Christine. Let me finish this," he indicated his cup of tea, "and I'll call the coachman."   
  


*          *            *

Raoul had finished his tea very quickly and called the coachman just as fast, true to his word. Erik had taken that time to disappear and Christine hadn't even noticed he was gone until he walked through the sitting room doors again. It was a surprise when she saw him, not only because she didn't see him leave, but because his clothes had changed. He no longer wore the perfectly tailored dress clothes she had always seen him wear, but a casual, yet still strangely formal outfit. Enthralled by this odd sight, Christine forgot her manners and stared openly. 

  
However, when she realized that Erik was staring right back, she quickly threw her gaze off of him and blushed. She had forgotten how self conscious Erik could be at times and now that he was doubly out of his comfort zone, she could tell he was not at ease.   
  


After a few moments of halting, brief, almost curt conversation, Raoul walked back into the room, announced that everything was in order and they were off.

*          *            *

(A/N: Well, here you are…!  Like it? Hate it? Leave a review!  Many, many thanks to all who have reviewed so far!  We love your feedback!  Also, formatting insanity strikes again, so apologies…)


	6. Chapitre Six

**Disclaimer:** We don't need to tell you this, but you know, it's just here.  We don't own 'Phantom of the Opera', though we would like to. That belongs to Gaston Leroux and the rest of the wonderful (or not so wonderful… * coughcoughFORSYTHEcoughcough*…) geniuses who have brought this story to life.  Don't bother suing us; we don't make a penny off this.   
  
**Summary: **A phic exploring the possibility of another person sharing Erik's face.  
  
_A Story of Love:_ by Lady Death & L'Ange de Folie  
  
*          *          *  
  
A large crowd had already gathered at the fair, Erik noticed with disdain.   
  
They had tried to find a back way to this miserable place, or at least a way that wasn't so heavily populated, but it was impossible. The entire area was swarming with people and they had no choice but to walk through the mass. It was not something he was enjoying.   
  
He continued to follow Christine to the freak show without a word. The young comte followed closely behind and Erik could feel his eyes boring into his back. It seemed as if the boy was afraid that masked man would disappear along with Christine if he took his eyes off him for just one second. Erik chuckled silently to himself, knowing very well that he could do that if he truly wanted to - he'd done it often enough.   
  
His mirth was short lasting however. He felt a sickening feeling of claustrophobia replace it instead. Between the rapidly growing crowds and Raoul following so closely behind him, (Erik could almost feel his breath on the back of his neck), it was difficult for Erik to continue to walk and keep up a pretense of calmness. All his instincts were urging him to disappear into a dark corner and hide there. He was all too aware of the whispers and stares that were directed at him as they waded through milling groups of people. The only one advantage that they had in their position was that the crowds parted quickly and they were able to slip through without having to fight against traffic flows of people.   
  
The fair itself was overwhelming and Erik wondered queasily why people willingly went to them. Thousands of sights, sounds, and smells bombarded his senses making him dizzy. The teeming throng around them made it worse, giving Erik a feeling that he was trapped. There were flashes of color, dancers with brilliant, gaudy costumes, contortionists doing backbends before a tent, jugglers performing for a group of squealing children, plus a hundred other things coupled with the sounds of laughter, cheering, talking, screaming and the barker's advertising of various shows and attractions. All made him begin to wish that he had never left the cellars of the opera house. He fought the deep feeling of panic in his stomach.   
  
_I spent so much of my life performing at these places,_ he thought in wonder. _Why?_ He had been younger then, he supposed, and wasn't as reclusive and paranoid at that point in his life. The swarms of people and attractions filled him with such adversity and furthermore he couldn't understand why he had even considered making a living at these awful places.   
  
_And that boy is somewhere here…_   
  
Everything continued to bombard him and he began to feel nauseous once more. He mentally willed Christine to move faster.   
  
Erik didn't have to wait too long before the shabby, dilapidated; yet surprisingly large tent came into view. The words "Freak Show" were written sloppily and crudely on a sign that hung over the entryway. There was a curious lack of people at the entrance, giving it a forlorn appearance. Erik didn't notice Christine hand a bored young man their entry fee, but instead was staring at the gaping, black hole that led inside the tent with an intense feeling of antipathy. Painful and awful memories and thoughts clawed their way up from a part in his mind that he wanted nothing more than to forget about. Before he could form a debate as to whether he should enter or not, he was suddenly through the door to the tent temporarily welcoming the darkness that it brought.   
  
The sight that greeted Erik when he walked inside was hauntingly familiar and he successfully suppressed several shudders.   
  
The tent was filthy, for one thing. The freaks of the tent didn't seem to notice as they went about their work, proudly displaying themselves before the gawking onlookers. Erik regarded a man who looked uncannily like a Cyclops standing on a wooden box, batting his one large eye at a clique of girls who screamed with terror and twisted glee. As they walked along, Erik also spotted a man with no arms or legs sitting on top of some table playing cards with his mouth and a young lady covered in fur from head to toe snarling at a passerby in an obvious act.   
  
Erik turned from them in disgust, wondering if they had any dignity left at all. The entire concept of a freak show was uncalled for in the first place, but when the participants began to take pleasure in it, it was revolting. Feeling repulsed, Erik pushed his way through the larger tent and into a smaller annexed one. Raoul and Christine who had been distracted by the torso man caught sight of Erik and struggled to catch up with him.   
  
Before they could get to his side, Erik had disappeared into the next tent.   
  
*          *          *  
  
Christine stepped into the darkness, her eyes skimming over the onlookers assembled around an attraction. She fought back the tears that began to form now that she was once again in the presence of this small, emaciated child. She quickly turned her back to the cage, took a few deep breaths and continued to look for Erik.  
  
She felt a little frustrated and she made another pass around the tent.   
  
_Where could he have gone?_ She wondered. _He wouldn't have left without finding us, I don't think. Oh, Erik! Where did you go? _  
  
She hadn't expected him to run off. He had stayed so close while out in the crowds but then he had unexpectedly stormed off when she least expected it… She stopped as a small flash of white in a dark corner snared her attention. She immediately recognized it as mask and hurried over.   
  
Christine stepped cautiously towards him, aware that something was amiss. She squinted her eyes and could discern that he was hunched over in a way that alarmed her. She slowed her pace down considerably so not to startle him. She was convinced that he didn't see her. He had pressed himself up against the tent wall, looking as though he wished to disappear through it. She quietly stood next to him and gently placed a hand comfortingly on his arm. He didn't flinch or spring away like all the other times she had touched him, which partially relieved her, yet also filled her with apprehension. She bit her lip as she felt him shaking. She followed his gaze and could see that his attention was wholly fixed on the cage in the center of the tent, his eyes frozen in an expression of shock, horror and loathing. His long elegant hands were now clenched into tight fists and she bit her lip as she saw small drops of blood trickling through his fingers.   
  
|I know…" Christine whispered softly. "It's horrible. How could anyone be so cruel?"  
  
"They are cruel because they do not see," Erik replied, dispelling Christine's notion that he wasn't aware of her next to him.  "They see a monster in a cage; something different for them, to be gawked and stared at.  Not a human child with feelings or emotions… Just an animal."   
  
His voice was thick with an obvious loathing for everyone in tent, but Christine detected one more emotion that she couldn't immediately place.  Was it sorrow? Perhaps it was even pity.  Whatever he had felt, she sensed it quickly turn to anger.  
  
Erik's breathing had taken on a harsh quality and she heard a low growl escape from his throat.  She took a step back in surprise and looked for Erik's cause of distress. Her eyes caught sight of two things at once.  First, she found Raoul pushing his way through the crowd trying to find her and second, she saw two young men on the opposite side of the cage.  Her eyes furrowed as they pushed a thick, pointed stick in between the bars and began to prod the child inside, who would dart to the other side of the cage.  He was not saved as his tormenters would move and pursue him again.  There seemed to be a tangible amusement that floating among the crowd.  Christine felt on edge and revolted at what she was seeing._    
  
_Christine, so absorbed and disgusted by this sickening spectacle, did not hear or feel Erik leave her side.  
  
*          *          *  
  
Erik kept to the shadows in the dark corners of the tent, no longer finding enough control in his body to allow this display to continue.  He crept closer to the impudent little brats who where now at the moment finding sport in calling out cruel insults, taunts and challenges.  It was an apparent they were attempting to bait the child in the cage to respond to their torment.  Up until now, the boy had held his tongue and had made not a sound to reward the boys in their bullying.  Erik silently cheered for him.    
  
However, the youths' efforts were in vain.  The young child made no sound in the slightest to reveal any suffering he was experiencing.  Indeed, he seemed to be completely oblivious to their presence.  Instead, he seemed to have lost interest in his tormenters and had found something more pressing to worry about.  He cradled a wounded arm that had been inflicted by their cruelty.    
  
Incensed, Erik tried to get a better look at the injury. He noticed unshed tears glistening in those empty looking eye sockets and they looked as if they would start running over his pale cheeks without warning.  He felt a strange, cold anger slowly festering inside him.  As he stalked over toward the cage and the intermediate crowd, he thrust and beat back the long-time banished memories that threatened to spill over into his intermediate thoughts._   
  
_He stopped one of the young men by tapping on his shoulder. A little harder than was necessary, he idly noticed.  
  
"Are you thoroughly enjoying yourself?" He snapped sarcastically, his clenched hands trembling with rage.    
  
The youth didn't even bother to look at the man in the darkness behind him.  He replied with a somewhat amused, yet derogatory snort.  "Not what I'd call enjoying.  The stupid thing won't even move now.  I've got a good mind to ask for my money back."  
  
"Then perhaps you should discontinue this activity and find a more worthy occupation of your time," Erik said icily.  
  
"What are you talking about?" The young man asked incredulously. He laughed softly to himself as he picked up a hefty sized rock and smiled as he estimated its weight.  He called over to his companions with an easy, malicious grin. "This'll make the little freak yell!"  
  
Erik's hand shot out and snatched the boy's wrist as he took aim with the stone.  
  
"I don't recommend you do that," Erik growled. The boy cried out sharply when Erik violently twisted his arm. A resounding crack was heard.  
  
*          *          *  
  
It took a moment before Christine realized that Erik was no longer by her side.  Her mind filled with panic once more and her mind was dominated with thoughts of where Erik might be. The suddenly remembered the young men by the cage and she began to feel a paralyzing fear creep over her.    
  
Her eyes darted around, frantically looking for Erik's elusive shadow.  She pleaded to any divine being listening that Erik wouldn't betray them all with his raging temper… or do something horrible… She still clung stubbornly to the concept that this whole incident could be ended without violence or bloodshed.  However, in the back of her mind, she realized that after putting Erik in a situation of this nature, such ideals would be precluded.  She should have known better….  
  
Presently, her attention was focused to a group of onlookers who were variously stepping back or moving closer to an activity of obvious interest.  She heard a pained shout pierce through the murmur of the crowd.  She quickly looked around for Raoul (who was bored and meandering around), seized him by the arm (he looked startled at that) and fought her way closer to the sound.  There was no doubt in her mind that Erik wasn't somehow involved. Having Raoul behind her gave her a bit of comfort, just knowing that she had some backup in case she needed it.  
  
When she was finally able to get close enough, the first scene that bombarded her was, indeed, one of Erik.  One of the young men she had seen earlier was down on his knees in the dirt while Erik stood over him, aloof.  The second thing she quickly took to note was that Erik had a firm grasp of that man's arm and was twisting it to a brutally unnatural angle.  The sight began to make her queasy and a little lightheaded.    
  
Another young man from the group was shouting frantically, doing nothing short of getting on his knees and begging for Erik to release his friend, who had begun to scream once more.  
  
Christine desperately began to push and shove her way through the cluster of people standing between her and Erik. More people seemed to be grouping around and she was finding it near impossible to get closer.  She cried out Erik's name but he didn't seem to hear her at all.  In fact, he didn't seem to be aware of anything.    
  
She shouted aloud again, pleading for him to stop, but the melee of sound from the crowd drowned out her voice.  
  
A sudden, deafening, crack of a whip snapped suddenly in the tent, causing all activity to instantly and effectively crash to a grinding halt.   
  
"What is going on in here?" demanded a loud voice, accented thickly and heavily with an almost impenetrable Italian accent.  
  
Every pair of eyes in the tent shot immediately to the large, heavy-set man who entirely occupied the entire entryway to the tent.  He firmly clutched a vicious-looking lion-tamer's whip in one of his burly hands. It flicked harmlessly as his hand tightened convulsively around the handle in annoyance.  
  
Aldo.  
  
"Well?" he challenged. "I do not want to repeat myself…!"  
  
Christine's heart filled with cold revulsion as she caught sight of this cruel man.  His presence was not a welcome one. She had placed him in the back of her mind and had almost forgotten about him… That is, until he appeared; it was a stunning slap in the face. She took an involuntary step backwards and he began to roughly shove his way to the center of the crowd.   
  
As she watched him for a moment more, worry began to gnaw at her mind.  Her eyes looked wildly for Erik, hoping to catch sight of his reaction to the intrusion.  Even more so, she was terrified of what might happen to him.  Erik's conduct was not necessarily something to be proud of, and he could find himself in trouble soon… She could hear Erik's poor victim as he was undoubtedly on the ground, cradling his arm…  
  
She wasn't surprised to observe that Erik had disappeared once more.  He didn't appear to be in the tent, she didn't see him when she quickly swept her gaze about the tent, but she reminded herself once again that no one saw Erik if he didn't wish to be seen.   
  
Aldo continued to move closer and fear filled her mind.  She quickly grabbed Raoul, (who was still looking fairly bewildered), by the arm, and fairly dragged him into the more shadowy corners of the tent.  She felt a growing sense of anxiety, somehow knowing that if Aldo caught sight of her and Raoul here, hovering around his 'prized attraction' that he would automatically assume them to be the source of the trouble…  
  
As soon as they were out of sight, Christine found herself twirled quickly around by her husband to stare in him in the face.  
  
"Christine!" Raoul quietly hissed. She could see the confusion and panic growing his in eyes. "What on earth has happened here? I loose sight of you two for just a moment and everything plunges into chaos! Why was that man screaming?"  He gave an exasperated sigh and looked seriously into Christine's eyes. "…And how do I know that that lunatic is somehow responsible for it all?"  
  
Christine began to feel increasingly more and more distressed as Raoul voiced that last comment, especially as she could see things over his shoulder that he could not... She cleared her throat softly and indicated 'the lunatic' with a meaningful nod of her head as he materialized behind Raoul.  Christine saw Raoul's eyes widen as he instantly caught her meaning.  She saw his face twist in embarrassment and mortification, fully understanding the implications of what he had just said.  With as much dignity has he could manage, Raoul took a deep breath and calmly turned to meet the older man.  Unconsciously, Raoul stepped backwards to stand by Christine, at the sight of Erik's smoldering eyes.  
  
"Erik-" Christine began, her voice trembling. She quickly bit her tongue as she saw Aldo skulking around the tent, his face filled with vile annoyance.  He was moving slowly but surely toward their hiding place and she quickly decided that it was best that they vacated the tent before they were found.  
  
"We should go," Christine whispered nervously, biting her lip. "We can talk outside."   
  
She seized Raoul's arm once more, quickly and wordlessly leading him around the crowd, then out of the tent, trusting Erik would follow… He did so reluctantly, but only after casting a glare of pure venom in Aldo's direction.  
  
*          *          *  
  
Once the three of them were safely outside the tent, Christine was able to take a deep, relaxed breath.  After a moment or so, they were able to find an area devoid of people.  She looked over at Raoul who seemed much more content with both she and Erik in his sights, but she could still see abashment written plainly on his face. As for Erik, Christine noticed his eyes were lacking their normal glint; they now were dull and empty looking. Erik's entire body spoke levels of weariness and agitation; making her regret their decision to come on this excursion.  
  
"Well?" Christine quietly asked, barely able to be heard above the noise of the fairgoers.   
  
Raoul looked over to Erik who plainly appeared as if he hadn't heard Christine.   
  
"Erik?" Christine asked, taking a small step towards him.   
His eyes tiredly met hers.  
  
"Shall we go?" she asked.  
  
He nodded and she heard a faint, "Yes," meet her ears.  
  
"…Do you have a plan?" Christine asked gently.  
  
There was a slight hesitation before he responded resolutely. "Yes."


	7. Chapitre Sept

**Disclaimer:** We don't need to tell you this, but you know, it's just here.  We don't own 'Phantom of the Opera', though we would like to. That belongs to Gaston Leroux and the rest of the wonderful (or not so wonderful… * coughcoughFORSYTHEcoughcough*…) geniuses who have brought this story to life.  Don't bother suing us; we don't make a penny off this.   
  
**Summary: **A phic exploring the possibility of another person sharing Erik's face.  
  
_A Story of Love:_ by Lady Death & L'Ange de Folie  
  
_*        *        *  
  
_The sun had long set when the three stealthily made their way back to the fairgrounds.  The growing darkness had slowly urged the fun seekers home, leaving the fair completely deserted.  Where there was once laughter and joy, there was silence and an empty void.  The slinking trio all agreed that this was a much more agreeable environment to work in. All the inhabitants of the various shows had long since fallen asleep and all the tents were closed tightly up.   
  
As quiet as it was possible, they made their way to the tent that they knew housed the freak show.    
  
Raoul silently followed along.  He was finding it was difficult to be enthusiastic about this whole mission.   
  
He couldn't see anything!    
  
He could faintly see the outline of Erik moving around confidently ahead and Raoul wondered with mild annoyance how he could see in such darkness.  There were some people in this group that needed light to see, but Erik didn't seem to notice this.  Erik steadfastly refused to bring a lantern or illumination of any sort, and now, since all the moonlight was hidden behind the massive trees; Raoul was deeply regretting his decision not to bring one anyway.   
  
All these tents looked the same in the darkness!  How could Erik possibly know which one was their target?  He didn't relish walking into the wrong one… but then again, he didn't relish walking into the right one either.  He didn't want to go back into that tent; he didn't want to be with all those… people.  He just wanted to be back home, alone, and with his wife…  
  
Raoul glanced back at Erik and saw him dart between two tents.  He quickened his stride, trying to catch up before they lost track of him.  Raoul did not want to get lost in the night and he somehow knew that if he did, their masked guide was not going to come back to find him.  
  
Raoul bit back a startled cry as he stumbled over an obscured object that he could only hope was not alive.  He was met with a sharp hiss.  
  
"Quiet!" A pair of blazing, golden eyes met his for a brief moment before disappearing into the night.  
  
Raoul chewed on his lip to keep back a rude reply about being unable to see in the dark because a certain someone was in denial over the simple existence of a certain tool called light.  Instead, he merely scowled at the black shape stalking in front of him and it continued to move forward.  He felt Christine squeeze his hand in a reassuring way and Raoul sighed.  
  
And suddenly, without any warning, Erik stopped, and they were there.    
  
Raoul stumbled again, nearly colliding with Christine.  He glanced up and saw the entrance to the freak show.  It loomed over them oppressively; ominously silhouetted by the moon that had finally decided to peak out from behind the trees.  He shivered at the ghostly aura of the place.    
  
Raoul noted that unlike every other tent around them, this one actually displayed some signs of life.  A faint light flickered and shone out of the narrow entryway, and Raoul fancied he could hear a voice from inside, as well.    
  
Christine quietly came up to stand up beside Raoul, releasing his hand and putting her arm through his.    
  
Erik stood away from them, his attention wholly fixed on the tent.  He was not paying the slightest heed to his two companions. His eyes darted over the imposing tent, and didn't seem interested in moving.  
  
There was a long silence between the group, none seeming inclined to break it at first, as seemed to be customary as of late.   
  
And, as also seemed to be traditional, Christine was the first to voice her thoughts.  
  
With soft determination, she asked, "Shall we go inside?"  
  
Erik's voice was blunt. "No."

"No?" Raoul asked incredulously, feeling at the end of his rope.  "You've brought us here just to look-"  
  
Erik turned slowly to them, and looked at him with infinite patience. He began to deliberately stress his words and Raoul, indignantly and unwillingly, began to feel like a stupid child.  
  
"No, you will not be entering. I will be making this little venture alone. You will wait outside. I will be going inside. Do we sufficiently understand each other?"  
  
Raoul looked at the older man's boots, unable to meet his eyes. He mumbled a glum, "Yes…"  
  
"Brilliant boy," Erik commented, idly. "Stay here with C-" His voice suddenly faltered and the amused tone in his voice disappeared. "…With your wife…"

  
Raoul put his arm around Christine's shoulders and pulled her tight.  He involuntarily smiled in the dark and Erik slipped into the tent without a word.  
  
*        *        *  
  
The interior of the tent looked much darker than it looked from the outside. It was nearly pitch black. The moonlight didn't filter through the thick canvas walls, and there was no immediate light in close vicinity.    
  
But that didn't bother Erik; he didn't need the light. In fact, he preferred the dark for this particular excursion.  He tossed his gaze about the tent.  
  
The tent was empty of all its occupants, the empty cages sitting forlornly in the darkness; their inhabitants most likely off in their own personal tents.  Erik noticed a small light reflecting off the metal bars and he looked for its source.  It was coming from the small annexed tent he was looking for.  He could see the faint, flickering light of a candle inside and he slowly began to stalk towards it.    
  
He silenced his footsteps as they trod on the loose, dirt floor.  The entryway he was focusing on was showing definite signs of life.  His sharp hearing picked up the sound of coughing, mutterings, and the sound of paper rustling noisily against itself.  When he reached the doorway, he peered inside, concealing himself in the shadows.  
  
The fair owner, Aldo, was sitting in a small, rickety, wooden chair that sagged under his weight.  He busily counted through bills and coins, frowning, and muttering somewhat incoherently over what sounded like the pointed drop of income from the previous day.  Occasionally, he sent a dark, ireful glare in the direction of the runty, emaciated figure slumped in the cage that occupied the room as well.   
  
The boy had collapsed in the farthest corner of the cage, unconscious. He was an obvious victim of Aldo's anger over the afternoon's unexpected disruption and the inevitable, subsequent refunds. Several long, fresh bruises ran along his back and shoulders, and there was a bloody gash across his forehead.  
  
The urge to kill had inconspicuously surfaced into being and Erik clenched a fist in response.  His eyes flicked over towards Aldo, who was still oblivious to his presence.  
  
_Kill him.  
  
_Erik chewed painfully on his lip until blood began to bead in the small cut.  
  
_No.    
  
_This could be solved without violence.  No need to kill.  Christine wouldn't like that.  Nadir wouldn't either – you promised him no more wanton murder…  
  
Erik silently invited a long, deep breath to enter his lungs.  
  
_That's better…_

  
He began to feel strangely composed at the sight of the boy's abuse.  He welcomed the internal, professional detachment with relief, but allowed his face to remained fixed in a sneer.    
  
The small, lone candle by Aldo's side flickered gently as Erik withdrew from the dark corner of the tent and somewhat into the dim lighting.  He watched Aldo automatically glance warily up from his activity and look towards the boy, who was still very unconscious.  The fair owner shifted uncomfortably for another moment or so before resuming his tallying.    
  
Erik drifted forward a pace.  
  
Aldo's head slowly rose again from the receipts and whirled around with the obvious attempt to apprehend whoever was setting him on end.  As he turned, he caught sight of his ghostly observer and took a startled, staggering step backwards.  
  
Erik resisted the chuckle that he felt growing as fear briefly flashed across Aldo's features.  The man looked remarkably like a fish out of water with the way his eyes were bulging from his fat face.  
  
Erik stepped a bit closer, becoming slightly more visible in the candlelight.  He kept his head lowered, allowing the wide brim of his black hat to obscure the mask from prying eyes.  
  
"Good evening, monsieur," Erik greeted coldly.  
  
Aldo tilted back his head, regarding him with faint suspicion.  Erik felt his face flush, as he knew that the endomorph before him had caught sight of what parts of the mask were not entirely hidden by the hat, and was now attempting to get a look of the rest of it.  
  
"What do you want?" Aldo demanded gruffly, all pleasantries aside.  "Unless you haven't noticed, the fair is closed."  
  
"Then I shall try not to take up too much of your valuable time," Erik said calmly, with an unmistakable note of sarcasm lilting in his words.  
  
He began to slowly pace outside the circle of candlelight.    
  
He put Aldo in the back of his mind for a split second as he began to reestablish the iron grasp he customarily exhibited over his emotions.  Tonight, it was slipping away at an alarming rate and Erik wasn't relishing the aftereffects.  If he let his heart get in the way of his head, then he would become clumsy and irrational – something he did not need at the moment.  
  
"If I'm not mistaken, there was recently been an offer to purchase one of your attractions…" Erik said.  His voice was carefully and perfectly controlled to not betray the loathing and disgust he felt for the notion of such an act.   
  
He paused briefly, and cautiously, knowingly, turned his back to Aldo.  He took a breath to regain control as he continued.  
  
"Perhaps if someone were to offer more…"   
  
Aldo snorted in what sounded like irritated amusement.  "You too, eh?  Well, I'll tell you the same thing I told the other, 'not a chance!'  This little brat brings in more people than the others combined.  Do you think I'm stupid enough to get rid of my star attraction?"  
  
His efforts to triumph over his emotion were going badly, and the craving to feel Aldo's neck snap in his hands became almost overwhelming.   
  
_ I am not quite in the mood for delegation and negotiation.  
  
_He turned to face Aldo.  
  
"You're quite certain you will not reconsider?" Erik inquired smoothly and darkly.  In an unseen gesture, he ran his fingers across the coils of the Punjab lasso, which lay hidden in a repository in his cloak.  
  
A small vein began to visibly pulse and twitch in Aldo's forehead.  His face had taken on a ruddy color and had fixated itself into a snarl.  "Yes, I'm 'quite certain'!  I'm also 'quite certain' that if you don't get the hell of here, I'm gonna throw you out!"  
  
Erik fought to keep his voice placid and level.  "Then I'm afraid I must insist that you release this boy to me."

He stepped fully into the candle's weak light.  
  
The fair owner's eyes flashed in satisfaction, as he looked Erik over. Erik knew grimly that the mask was in plain sight now.    
  
"Why does everyone in this godforsaken town have an interest in this little brat?" Aldo scornfully asked. He strode over towards the prone, limp figure in the cage, and snorted again.  "There was that meddling woman here screeching something about rights the other week… and then the fellow there was the fellow who actually wanted to buy the thing… Well, the little rat is my property and it's going to stay that way!"  He paused for a moment. "…And then, just today, someone was causing a racket in here… broke a boy's arm for throwing something at the freak…"  
  
Erik watched him warily throughout all this, this eyes narrowing dangerously.  He said nothing.  
  
Aldo continued, growing calmer, more calculated.  "Oddest thing… From what I heard, the troublemaker was wearing a black mask…"  
  
He turned to face Erik, sounding accusatory. The suspicion from the beginning of their conversation reassembled itself.  "That wouldn't happen to have been you, now would it?"  
  
"Anyone can wear a mask," Erik replied dismissively. "Now I really must insist that you release the boy."  
  
Aldo peered at him through the dim space and sneered.  "Oh, you do?  And if I refuse?"   Smug arrogance was obvious in his voice.  
  
"It was not a request," Erik hissed icily.  His patience was wearing thin with every word exchanged, and he was no longer feeling the want to smother his anger.  
  
Aldo snickered softly and continued to move closer toward Erik.  "You don't scare me."    
  
Erik's face remained neutral under the mask.  "Neither do you."  
  
Aldo stopped moving and rubbed his hands together.  "You know, I think it was you today… making trouble…"  
  
"The boy, monsieur," Erik intoned forcefully.  Aldo's eyes glazed under the power of his voice, but after a heartbeat, unexpectedly freed himself.  
  
"No, the brat can wait…" Aldo said. "I think I'm more interested in you right now…"  
  
Erik stood his ground, fighting the sudden, dizzying urge to flee.  "Really, now?"  
  
 "Yes, I am…" Aldo lazily folded his arms across his chest.  "The mask… Take it off."  
  
Erik stiffened at the change of conversation. His aggravation froze and it took up painful residence in his chest.  "No."   
  
Aldo's eyebrows rose at Erik's sharp response.  A smirk began to tug at his lips as realization dawned in his black eyes. "Take it off or I'll do it myself."   
  
"I'd rather not."  Erik's displeasure for this turn of events was rapidly escalating.  Just take the boy and leave… you don't need this.  
  
"Here's my ultimatum, then," Aldo said carelessly.  "Show me what's under the mask and I might consider your proposal."  
  
"And if I don't?" Erik asked softly, intertwining his fingers in the comforting coils of his lasso.   
  
Aldo shrugged and produced a knife from his belt.  The candlelight flickered off the surface.  
  
Erik glared.  He'd had enough.  
  
"And I said, 'no'," he repeated.   
  
Aldo was silent. Then finally, "It's your decision."  
  
Time stood still for a moment, and then without warning, Aldo lunged at Erik.  
  
He moved quickly for a man his size; Erik was quick to find out.  

The small chair that the candle rested on toppled over in what ensued. The only source of light fell, guttered, and plunged the tent into blackness.  
  
There was a brief struggle in the dark, and then suddenly a strangled cry… followed by the sickening thud of a body falling to the ground…  
  
*        *        *  
  
Raoul paced impatiently outside the tent.  The moonlight was beginning to play tricks on his eyes, and he was very jumpy.  He felt vulnerable without any light, and he fancied he saw dark shapes darting between the tents.  A cold breeze had begun to pick up. He could sense Christine's uneasiness as well, and he just wanted to go home.  He wanted this to be all over…  get the boy out of the fair, Erik out of the house, and he could begin to settle back into his life with Christine…  
  
Where is he? Raoul thought in annoyance.  It's been far too long since he went in.  
  
Christine stood nervously in the doorway, her hands twisting in her skirts.    
  
They heard a scream.  
  
Christine jumped at the sound, and Raoul began to make his way towards her.  His heart pounded with fear, anticipation, and confusion.  She peered anxiously into the tent, but shook her head, as the tent was too dim to pick out anything inside.  
  
_What is going on in there?_   
  
His irritation began to die and give way to desperation.    
  
_What could possibly be taking him so long? I knew this was a bad idea!_  
  
Raoul forced himself to continuing walking up and down the length of tent. As he passed by the entrance once more, he heard Christine shift around and let out a long, shaky breath.   
  
_Enough of this…_  
  
Raoul stopped his frustrated movements and took a deep breath.  
  
_You know what your brother used to always say…  
  
…Never send a man to do a Changy's work…_  
  
"I'm going in there, Christine," Raoul said with sudden determination and more confidence than he felt.  He strode purposefully towards the tent opening.  
  
Christine swiftly grabbed Raoul's arm, and he could feel her fingers trembling through his coat.  "Raoul, you can't!  He told us to wait outside!"  
  
Raoul looked down at his wife, and could see her eyes wide with emotion in the almost non-existent light. "Something's gone wrong, Christine.  You heard that cry as well as I did."  
  
Christine glanced fearfully at the entryway, and then indecisively back towards him.    
  
"But Erik said…" she stubbornly repeated.  
  
"I'm going in there," Raoul said, more firmly.  He tried to extricate himself from Christine's grasp.  
  
"There is no need," a voice called wearily from inside.   
  
Raoul instinctively pulled Christine tightly towards himself and they both looked up to find their masked companion exiting slowly from the tent.  Erik's customary cloak was wrapped gently about a small form, which lay protectively in his arms.  Erik glanced down at his load, and gently brushed a few messy locks of hair out of the boy's dirty face.  
  
Raoul watched in dismay as Christine gasped and freed herself from his grasp. She moved quickly towards Erik and the child.  Erik instead shook his head and began to move swiftly away from the tent.  He made a brusque gesture for them to follow.  
  
"You shall be able to do that later, dear.  But for the time being, I believe we should go quickly.  Others were bound to have heard that shout…"  
  
Raoul watched Christine trail obediently after Erik for half a second before moving into action himself.  He sighed softly to himself and tried to combat the acute sorrow he was beginning to register in his throat.  
  
_Oh, Christine…_  
  
Why was he suddenly beginning to feel like merely the tag-along… and nothing more?  
  
*        *        *

(A/N:  Like it? Hate it? Leave a review…. Thank you so very, very much to all those who have reviewed!  We really do enjoy them all… You guys are great!)


	8. Chapitre Huit

**Disclaimer:** We don't need to tell you this, but you know, it's just here.  We don't own 'Phantom of the Opera', though we would like to. That belongs to Gaston Leroux and the rest of the wonderful (or not so wonderful… * coughcoughFORSYTHEcoughcough*…) geniuses who have brought this story to life.  Don't bother suing us; we don't make a penny off this.   
  
**Summary: **A phic exploring the possibility of another person sharing Erik's face.  
  
A Story of Love: by Lady Death & L'Ange de Folie  
  
*        *        *  
  
The warm sunlight of the late morning peeked indolently through the slightly parted curtains of the room.  If the curtains had been opened just a little farther, then anyone who cared to take a look would have noticed that today was turning out to be rather beautiful.  Unfortunately, the room was essentially vacant of all people to observe this, except for the small lump in the bed.     
  
The small lump was the room's only occupant, and he was beginning to wake.  
  
_Warmth...  Light...  Softness…  
_  
As the boy slowly opened his eyes, he noticed something was definitely amiss.  
  
_What…?_  
  
He rolled to his back, and realized that he had been sleeping in… a bed?   
  
He pushed gently against the thick blanket that was tucked against him, unused to feeling of it.    
  
A few others things slowly trickled into consciousness.    
  
He was clean…!    
  
All the grime and dirt that he was accustomed to being coated in was gone and washed away.  He ran a hand through his neatly combed hair in bewilderment. The rags he had always remembered wearing had been stripped away and he now wore a soft, loosely fitting shirt and pair trousers. They were a little large, but he didn't focus too long on that.  He also began to find that all the cuts and bruises that had recently accumulated over his body were carefully attended to.  He tentatively touched several of the bandages, wondering if he were dreaming again.  When nothing changed, his heart began to race.    
  
He quickly sat up, ignoring the familiar aches and pains he normally associated with such an action. He hurriedly glanced around the room in confusion.   
  
_Where?_  
  
Definitely was something amiss… This was not the fair… This was not the work of anyone at that fair...  
  
The boy frowned.  
  
His environment had changed entirely.  But with a few more looks around, he decided that it wasn't wholly for the worst.     
  
He was in a good-sized room; well furnished, and pleasant to look at.  There were a few comfortable looking chairs situated about, a small desk in the corner, and there were a few books stacked on a small shelf.  The temperature was comfortably warm and he could detect the scent of something heavenly wafting in the air.  His stomach growled in response.  
  
A thought suddenly slapped him in the face and he fearfully crawled back under the blankets.  
  
He finally discerned what had been so incredibly different and surprising about his surroundings.  
  
There was an absence of bars and a cage.  
  
Trembling, he lay back down, stiffening and staring blankly up at the plain ceiling.  
  
_What is going on…?_  
  
He was rarely ever let out of his cage.  The only times he was let out was when he was roughly hauled from it and allowed to walk around while it was being cleaned or… unless he was being punished for something… He shuddered at that thought.   Except for when that happened, the bars were always there.    
  
Well, he was out of the cage, wasn't he?  So it was being cleaned, then… But, where was it?     
  
His eyes wandered back over the room's layout and the cage wasn't anywhere in sight.  
  
_What is going on…?_  
  
Nothing was making sense now.    
  
He remained there for a long while, too terrified to make any sort of move.   
  
_I'm going to get into trouble – I'm not in my cage…_  
  
He's going to be angry if he finds out I'm not where I'm supposed to be…  
  
The boy buried his face in his hands and tried to stop the fear that was paralyzing him.   
  
_So much trouble…_  
  
A soft creaking sound reached his ears and he instinctively twisted around to face the source.   
  
A tall, imposing, darkly clad figure in a mask stood in the doorway, his body framed by the soft light in the doorway.  The sight was frightening in itself, but the initial thing that alarmed the boy, more than the mask, was that he didn't know who this man was.  This was not his owner… in fact, he was not even sure he fully recognized the figure.   
  
Perhaps this was his new owner?  
  
A memory of his last conscious thoughts shot through his mind… He was being beaten again - he must have done something wrong… just couldn't remember what… He had gotten taken out of his cage for it…  
  
His heart began to thud painfully in his chest and he felt as if he couldn't breathe.  
  
_I'm out of my cage,_ he thought in horror. _I'm out of my cage!  
_  
The boy frantically scrambled backwards, away from the figure in the doorway.  He landed on the floor with an unceremonious thud.   
  
_There's someone here and I'm out of my cage!_  
  
He didn't register the jarring fall, instead focusing on moving as fast as possible over the hardwood floor into a protective corner.  He wouldn't get thrown around as much…  
  
To the boy's dread, the intruder began to silently advance towards him at a slow pace.  He also noticed with some trepidation that he couldn't move further away now.    
  
His muscles froze and he found he couldn't move even if he wanted to.  
  
The man stopped about an arm's length away from him, and the boy could not detect any weapons or objects on his person.  
  
It would be a simple beating then…  
  
The boy felt himself shake all over.  He stared up at the dark figure, and he could feel his eyes welling with tears of fear.    
  
The man gracefully crouched down next to him, hands held in the air.  
  
He whimpered again and watched those long, elegant hands, unable to tear his eyes away, in fear of them striking him if he looked away but for a second.  They looked incredibly strong… His mind was filled with memories of pain and humiliation, and he could not suppress a violent shudder.   
  
An angelic, commanding, yet strangely gentle voice filled the air.  
  
_"Arrêtes, garçon…!  Je ne vais pas faire mal tu…"_  
  
The boy looked up at the man in a moment of wonder, and stared at the mask.    
  
_Did that voice come from…?_  
  
As his thoughts began to loosen from the voice that held them captive, he suddenly became aware of two things. One, the fear he had felt gripping his body languidly began to ebb away and an eerie calm replaced it.  Two… this man spoke French, it sounded like – the boy felt the tears returning to his eyes…    
  
He couldn't speak French…  
  
The boy felt embarrassment burning up and down his face.  He glanced back at the man in confusion.  
  
_I don't know…_ he thought miserably._ I don't understand…_  
  
He looked back down at the floor and decided that the man's voice was not threatening at all.  In fact, he had sounded almost… kind…  He pushed that last thought to the back of his mind.   
  
He continued to stare at the floor in shame.   
  
_"Qu'est-ce qui ne vas pas?"_ the man inquired gently, but more compelling than what he had previously said.  
  
The boy felt himself begin to tremble again.  That sounded like a question… But… he didn't know!  How could he answer if he didn't know what the question was asking…?  
  
He pulled his knees up to his chest, and ducked his head down.  He tried not to let his frustration and slowly returning panic find an outlet, but it did, and he was unable to restrain a few quiet sobs.  
  
_He'll hurt me for this; I know he will… I know it…_  
  
The two continued to sit there for a long while, neither saying anything.  The boy was grateful for that.  
  
Another unfamiliar voice broke the silence:  feminine, this time.  
  
_"Erik?"_  
  
The boy's head shot up.  That voice sounded familiar.  He looked over to find a woman in a long, brown dress standing outside the still open doorway, holding a small tray in her hands.  
  
The man looked over, but the woman's attention had now focused completely and uncomfortably on the boy.  
  
_"Oh! Il est éveillé!"_ she said, sounding friendly.  
  
She quickly entered the room and carefully placed the tray down on the bed before moving closer, standing behind the man in black.  
  
The boy stared blankly up at this new person a bit fearfully until recognition dawned, and the fear began to rise to earlier levels.    
  
He knew this woman!  She was the lady who had come to the fair and… yelled at Aldo, he remembered with no small amount of dread.  Aldo had been furious and had taken out his rage on… him later that night.  He tried not to dwell on that for very long.  
  
_"Comment vas-tu?"_ she asked softly.  
  
He began to feel even more confused.  What was she doing here, then?  Did she bring him here?  He dropped his head again, trying not to let the fresh tears drip from his eyes. What they had been saying to him were obvious questions, and he hadn't answered a single one of them.   They had to have been getting angry by now, but to his extreme surprise – and almost suspicion – neither of them seemed to be angry, nor had they make any motion to strike him.  
  
He whimpered again.  
  
What did these people want from him?   
  
 He was so confused.   
  
_"Qu'est-ce qu'il a?"_ the woman asked, although, the words did not seem to be directed towards him.  
  
"Please… I don't understand…" he whispered mournfully to himself, the tears sliding unheeded down his cheeks.  
  
The man unexpectedly began to chuckle, and the boy shivered and braced himself.  
  
"_Quelle?"_ The boy heard her ask.  
  
There was a brief moment of silence.  
  
"Do we understand now?" the man asked with infinite care.    
  
The boy's head shot up in shock and for a moment, he could do nothing but stare blankly.  He nodded his head in wondrous affirmation.  
  
"I do believe we have solved our little problem, young one," the man commented, with lyrical amusement dancing in his voice.  
  
The boy looked upwards, and stared at the man in the mask, and noticed a pair of golden eyes regarding him thoughtfully.  
  
The man observed him for another moment or so before he got to his feet and moved to sit on the bed.  The unanticipated movement sent the boy cringing instinctively back into his corner.  He quietly sighed and looked back upwards.  
  
The man was engaged in light conversation with the woman, and as he watched their hand motions, he noticed with ravenous hunger that there was food sitting on the tray the woman had brought in.    
  
He was so hungry…  
  
He flinched as the man returned to crouching down next to him once more.  He pressed himself into the wall, trying to maintain distance between them.     
  
"Well," the man said, after a pause. "Do you feel any better this morning? You were a bit ill last night."  
  
The boy stared for a moment, still unused to the beauty of the voice and the odd gentleness that sang in it.  He began to wonder if this were just another one of his dreams…  
  
"Yes, sir," he quickly replied with a small nod.    
  
_Why does it matter_, he asked inwardly. _It doesn't matter… Why would he want to know how I feel? _  
  
In all truth, he felt the way he always had felt and remembered feeling… his head was hurting; he was tired, sore, and hungry.   
  
His eyes darted back to the tray, and he longingly looked at the food.  
  
"No," the man said.  
  
The boy froze instantly and tensed.  Had he done something wrong?  His heart pounded in his chest, and for a split second, he wondered what exactly he had done and what sort of punishment it would merit.  
  
"You do not have to call me that," the man continued, a note of sadness in his voice.  
  
The boy blinked and felt all the tension leave his body in a rush.  He felt himself trembling more violently than he wanted to admit and his breath was coming in quicker than normal.    
  
"It's all right…" the man soothed, and the boy noticed compassion in his voice. "I know how difficult it may be to believe this, but no one is going to harm you here."  
  
The boy had nothing to say to this.  He stared at the floor in disbelief, unable to form a response.  Could he believe this man? Could he believe that?  It was impossible…  
  
"I'm Erik," the man said, when he didn't answer.  He motioned toward the lady who was not occupying one of the soft looking chairs in the room.  "This is Madame Christine de Chagny."  She rose when he said this, and gave a small curtsy.  The boy bit his lip, uncertain of how to respond to a formality that he hadn't seen for years.  In the end, he politely nodded towards her and she smiled at him.  
  
The man – Erik – paused for a moment before asking, "What is your name?"  
  
The boy gazed back down at his feet.  His name? He struggled to remember.  He wasn't what HE had called him… HE had called him lots of things, but they weren't his name… It was rather what… SHE … had called him… but what was it? It was so long ago…  
  
The boy took a deep breath and quietly responded in a small voice, "Edward…"

*        *        *

  
(A/N: Like it? Hate it? Leave a review! We love them so very much… Well, there you are!  We apologize for the wait, (we hope you're all still there!), any bad French above – we relied on textbooks, phrase books, and a beginning French student.  Please email us about any corrections that should be made, if any are found…  With that out of the way, we hope you like Edward!  And, Lady Death would like to say that there will be an explanation for his clothes in later chapters – we're aware that one wouldn't wear something like that to bed back then…)


	9. Chapitre Neuf

**Disclaimer:** We don't need to tell you this, but you know, it's just here.  We don't own 'Phantom of the Opera', though we would like to. That belongs to Gaston Leroux and the rest of the wonderful (or not so wonderful… * coughcoughFORSYTHEcoughcough*…) geniuses who have brought this story to life.  Don't bother suing us; we don't make a penny off this.   
  
**Summary: **A phic exploring the possibility of another person sharing Erik's face.  
  
**A Story of Love:** by Lady Death & L'Ange de Folie  
  
*        *        *  
  
Christine followed Erik as they retreated from the boy's room and retired to the downstairs sitting room.  After the young child had finished the food that Christine had brought to him, and a long, halting, but gentle conversation, he had finally fallen asleep.  
  
"He doesn't remember much before the fair," Erik calmly recounted as Christine took a seat in the dimly lit room.    
  
Christine arranged her skirts and glanced up at him as he paced the length of the room.  She was glad to finally hear something spoken in French.  Erik and the child had engaged in English for what seemed like an unbearably long time, and she hadn't been able to pick out too many cognates to help her understand the gist of the conversation.    
  
"He knows that his name is Edward," Erik continued on, turning to look at her as he passed by. "And he also knows that he comes from nearby Britain – possibly London.  He doesn't know exactly how old he is, and consequently, he also doesn't know how long he has been in that cage."  
  
Erik paused his narrations and restless movements.  He turned to face her from the opposite side of the room.  
  
"From what he told me, however, I would say that he has been in there for…" Christine watched Erik make some quick calculations. "…Four or five years, I would think."  She heard the intense, bitter resentment and loathing in his voice that he made no effort to conceal.  
  
Christine inhaled sharply as she repeated Erik's words. "Five years…?"  
  
He nodded and began to pace once more.  
  
Her mind reeled at the thought. "Five years…  He can't be more than 10 years old!  It is no wonder the poor child is scared half to death of us…"  
  
Christine bit her lip, fighting the all too familiar urge to cry, and subsequently, sob.  She felt that she was getting an idea of why Erik hated humanity so much, and she began to feel a resurgence of pity for Edward and for Erik.  Oh, why did she always have to get so upset at times like this?  Christine was beginning to feel frustrated at herself with the way she was reduced to a weeping mess when the thought of the boy and the cruelties he must have endured came to mind.  
  
She quietly stood up and moved toward the open window, inhaling the warm evening breeze.  Gratefully, she allowed the wind to ruffle her hair and help blot the tears that were threatening to fall.    
  
At the moment, a part of her was longing for Raoul.  He was her dear, loving Raoul who always knew what to say and do when she was feeling distraught, and he was always so eager and willing dry her tears, to comfort her…  
  
Why couldn't she adopt that control Erik almost always enforced on himself?   
  
_Oh, Erik… What must he think of me? _Christine thought with a small sigh. _Always falling to pieces… Always on the verge of tears…   
  
_She chanced a glance toward his imposing figure.  He stood motionless by the mantle, his back to her and seeming not to be paying attention to her.  But she knew better – he was always focused on her, even if it wasn't apparent.  
  
_But it upsets him, too, _Christine thought as she guiltily observed him a little longer than was necessary.  Despite his efforts to hide it, she could tell the situation bothered Erik, too.  
  
_How could it not upset anyone? _she continued on. How could anyone with a heart feel nothing in the face of such cruel, inhuman treatment?_  Five years locked in a filthy cage in a cheap country fair, half starved and neglected above all else, no less!  _When a child should have been given hugs, and kisses, and sweets, he was given kicks, lashes, and food probably not fit for eating…_  It's no wonder the poor boy – Edward-- _She corrected herself. _-Flinches every time anyone makes a move…  
  
_She shook her head sadly and tried to tell herself that all that was over, and that Edward was now in good hands.  He wouldn't have to suffer that kind of humiliation anymore…  
  
How could anyone be so cold-blooded? How could anyone be so callous as to treat a young, impressionable child so awfully and to render him completely terrified of all people, and for no other reason than chance appearance?  
  
"Sometimes it amazes me that people can be so petty," Christine whispered softly.  Her eyes widened the moment she said those words and she wished they could take them back.  Although they had only been a quiet whisper, she knew with dread that Erik had heard every syllable.  He always heard everything… Her mind vaguely remembered pitying him for that ability – he was bound to have heard so many hateful and rude comments made about him…  
  
_Idiot!  
  
_Of all the things to say to him!  She had no right to comment on that and call others petty when her first glimpse of Erik's face had left her screaming and suffering from nightmares for weeks afterwards.  If she wanted to be painfully honest, it was only in the past few months that those nightmares had abated and her fears dissolved.  But she didn't have the heart to tell him that…  
  
Christine turned slowly in embarrassment, half expecting a rebuke of some sort from her old mentor.        
  
Much to her surprise, Erik hadn't moved, and hadn't made any sort of change that would have revealed that he had heard her.  She peered at his form in the growing darkness, and noticed those oddly ethereal eyes of his fixed on a wall.  
  
"Erik?" she inquired softly, but again, he made no sign that he had acknowledged her.  Worry began to gnaw at her mind, and she wondered if she had offended him with her careless words.  She drifted a little closer to him.  
  
"It's late, Christine," Erik said suddenly with perfect calm, shifting hastily away as many steps as Christine had advanced.  He turned to face her.  "You should probably be getting off to bed."  
  
Christine glanced at the old, antique clock on the mantle and noted the time.  "I suppose so."  
  
She awkwardly stood there for half a moment before she timidly asked him a question.  "Are you going to sleep, too?"  
  
Erik closed his eyes for a moment.   
  
"No… No, I think I'll stay and keep an eye on him," he said softly.  
  
There was no question of whom Erik referred to.    
  
Christine nodded and began to make her way toward the entryway of the room.  
  
"You know, Erik, I think things will start turning up now," she said with a feeble smile. "He… Edward is here safe with us, and… with you caring for him-" Christine felt the breath rush from her lungs as Erik turned to regard her with an unidentifiable emotion. Unable to remember what she was going to say, she coughed nervously and continued to inch toward the door.   
  
"Goodnight, Erik," she whispered weakly.  
  
As she turned and began to move into the hall, she heard his voice in her ear, returning her words. "Goodnight…"  
  
*        *        *  
  
With a tired sigh, Erik began to trudge up the long, ornate wooden staircase that led to the isolated wing of the home where his and Edward's room were located. Breathing deeply and feeling uncomfortably helpless, he fought the inane urge to glance over his shoulder at Christine, who was retreating in the opposite direction down the hall.  He suddenly began to wonder if Christine was suffering from the same thoughts and desires.  
  
_Don't flatter yourself._  
  
He paused for a moment, and unable to resist, he chanced a look at her slowly moving figure.  She had not turned, and was now traveling out of sight.   
  
_Self-control, Erik!_  
  
He took another deep and trembling breath before he began to move up the steps.  
  
Before tonight, it had been rather easy to push aside any and all thoughts of her with concerns for the boy in the cage.  But now, the boy in the cage was no longer in a cage. He was safe, out of danger, fed, properly clothed, and sleeping.  There were no more immediate worries to dam his other, unwanted and submerged thoughts.  They came back unbidden and painful.  
  
How he hated – hated – _hated _being alone in that room with her, and any other room for that matter.  
  
She was married now.  If there had ever been anything at all between them, it was irrevocably gone and past.  It did give him a small bit of comfort in his bleak existence to see her so happy with her young man, though.  A guilty feeling returned.  He still wanted her so badly. Could he have made her just as happy if she had married him?  
  
_Of course not, Erik; don't be silly._  
  
If only he could obliterate and be rid of those pestering, lingering feelings he still had for her…  It was that pathetic part of this heart that still longed to hang and dote on her every word and move, the part that twisted in agony when he saw the two together… the part that still desired above all else to take her in his arms – to never let go –  
  
_STOP._  
  
If only there was a way to remove that piece of his treacherous heart and silence it forever…  Several morbid and strangely pleasing thoughts readily appeared in response to his wish, and after looking every one over, Erik attempted to divert them away before the ideas became irresistible.  
  
He halted in the hallway, leaning against the sparsely decorated wall.  He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and heavily in attempts to suppress thoughts and regain control over his body.  
  
_It's over, Erik.  Forget her…_  
  
But he didn't want to forget…  
  
_Forget her…_  
  
Erik paused for half a moment, drowning out the emotions that demanded to trickle from his eyes.  
  
_You've done what you've set out to do._  
  
Still feeling uneasy inside, he continued on his way, not wishing to linger in the halls for very long.  
  
He'd finished what he'd set out to do and the boy was safe.  That thought alone was comforting.  Edward was free and he would be safe here.  As soon as the child was a bit stronger and no longer in need of his skills, Erik would leave.  He'd return home and… and… and then what?  
  
He didn't bother to answer that particular question.  
  
There was no answer to give.  
  
Erik stopped at Edward's appointed room, just a short walk down the hall from his own.  Christine had decided it would be prudent to place the boy in close quarters with him in case prompt attention was required.  
  
He quietly nudged the door open.  
  
Edward had remained where they had left him: sound asleep in the small bed, curled up beneath the thick, soft blankets.  His breathing was gentle and measured, indicating peaceful dreams.  It was surprising.  Erik sighed, feeling a light tinge of jealousy of the relaxation of the oblivious sleeper. His own dreams ranged from unnerving to unbearably horrific, and he could not remember the last time he had been able to get a proper, full-night's sleep.  
  
Erik silenced his footsteps as he crept into the dark room, pausing briefly to close the door behind him.  
  
The room was very dark.  The only presence of light came from the moonlight shining dimly through the opened drapes.  He automatically started toward the windows, intent on closing them and shutting out the small vestiges of light that pierced the gloom, but he paused halfway across the room.  
  
He glanced through the dark at the figure asleep in bed, momentarily torn between his instincts and concern for the boy's comfort.  Complete darkness might frighten Edward if he happened to wake.  After all, many children are afraid of the dark at some point in their lives.  Even he had been, once, before he discovered the comforts nighttime brought.  He moved away, taking a seat in the chair which far from the window.  He felt himself relax.  
  
Perhaps one of these days, he'd be able to introduce Edward to a few of his coping techniques…  
  
He shook his head.  
  
_Not now, the time is not right._  
  
Whatever small comfort the dark held for him, it would be pointless should Edward awake and become upset.  A careless action on his part could undo an entire afternoon of work gone towards calming and soothing the boy, towards helping him become more at ease.  His mistrust was perfectly justifiable and understandable, however.  Spending any amount of time in such conditions for as long as one could remember would be enough to make a person a bit leery around other people.  
  
_Quite an understatement, _Erik thought with a bitter chuckle. _Those places are rarely kind of accommodating towards their 'exhibits', willing or unwilling alike.  He's lucky to be alive.  
  
_Erik turned to look at the sleeping boy with his undernourished frame, his unruly brown hair (in dire need of a hair cut, he might add), and that all too familiar face.  He felt stirrings of loathed pity and made no attempt to quell the self-disgust that resulted.  
  
Is he really so fortunate to be alive, though?  
  
He looked away quickly, feeling sudden revulsion for even thinking of such a thing; but he was unable to question its legitimacy.  If his own life was any example at all, then life would not be getting any easier for Edward.  
  
Perhaps…  
  
_No, don't think it, _he thought.  
  
But he did.  
  
Perhaps it would have been better if Edward had died at the fair.  Even if he stayed with the Chagnys, he couldn't hide in this house forever, especially with the servants that flitted about, and their unreliable vows of silence.  And here, even in the house, and outside, there would be no escaping the inevitable teasing, insults… the violence… for the rest of his earthly days… There would be the curiosity, the cruel whisperings, and the people who would consider him less than human and treat him accordingly…  He would spend his entire life unable to do something as innocently simple as walking down a sunlit street or even in… in extreme cases… be unable to touch or hold another living, sentient being without being recoiled from in horror…  
  
Erik felt a familiar tightening in his chest and throat.  
  
_And it will most definitely get worse as he gets older, _Erik thought, finding his eyes drawn to his own hand, clenched on the arm of the chair.  It was shaking.  _The older one gets, I suppose, is what makes it worse. There is finally a complete understanding of why things are like this...  
  
_He sighed as he remembered a time that seemed to very long ago.  He had not been much older than Edward, standing in a dark, empty field outside a gypsy camp, holding a small vial of lethal, homebrewed poison, preparing to end his short life.  
  
With a resigned sigh, Erik felt that he almost wished that he had not backed out if he had known what was to occur in his desolate future.  
  
_You still could, _an insidious voice in his thoughts announced. _That vial you had from a day or so ago is just with your things, if you're interested…  
  
_He closed his eyes and sharply reprimanded himself for such notions.  He thought he had grown out of them and was doing away with them completely.  
  
_Stop this! That isn't the way to think, especially now.  You've come here to help this boy because you are the best and only one who can!  This child shares your curse, and you are certainly not through yet. You may not be able to change his fate, but you can help him!  You can prevent him from making the mistakes you did!  
  
Perhaps his life will turn out better.  
  
You can do that, at least…  
  
_*        *        *  
  
The night was just still beginning in another, lonely location of the expensive de Chagny summer home.  The young owner and Comte found himself in alone in the library.    
  
 He fell tiredly into a nearby armchair, yawning.  With a bored sigh, he stared into a fire that crackled rather satisfyingly in the grate and he nodded in approval.  It had taken him the better part of an hour to build, due to inexperience in that particular area.  Under normal circumstances, he would have summoned one of the dozens of servants that were employed in the home. But then again, under normal circumstances, Christine would have been with him as well, so he supposed there was leniency in that area.  Usually, Christine would be sitting in the chair across from him, laughing, relating an old memory, or telling him of a minor incident that had befallen her during the day.  
  
He sat back in his chair and retreated into the reverie he was entertaining.  
  
If these were normal circumstances, his wife would be relaxing with him by this fire with a bottle of wine, helping him unwind after this particularly trying day.  If he were lucky, she'd even sing for him, her positively angelical voice lighting up the evening and lulling towards sleep.    
  
He sighed again.  
  
These were not normal circumstances, however, and thus the fire was the result of his need to occupy his time.    
  
Raoul had been alone for the majority of the day.  Every person in the house seemed to have vanished, all off and busy with some important occupation that did not involve him now that the boy was here.  Christine had been gone long before he had awakened, which worried him as they had all been up very late the previous night.  She had probably run off to one of the upstairs rooms, attending to their new guest.  He hadn't seen Erik at all today, but it wasn't as if he was expecting to, anyway.  He could only assume that the man was in the same place as his wife, most likely tending after the boy.  
  
A nagging voice in the back of his head told him that he could be there, too, if he wanted to…  
  
He put his head in his hands and yawned once more.  He had little interest in the child currently residing in one of the upstairs bedrooms, he reminded himself.  He couldn't deny the fact that it had been a kindness to free him – the conditions at the fair were truly abominable – but that did not mean that he had to flock upstairs with the rest of the household, either to the child or to whisper behind closed doors.  There were probably enough people already watching the boy, anyway, and it would almost be like being back in that cage for the poor thing.  Isn't that what they were trying to save him from?  Although this was Christine's little crusade and he supported it her in it, he couldn't help but wish for the day when everything would all be back to normal… the way it was for the last, few, blissful months.  
  
The only time he had even seen or even spoken to Christine today was when she had sought him out for a quick errand.  She asked him to venture up into the attic and retrieve some of his old childhood clothing for the boy, if he still had any.  He had.  He returned, surrendered them to her, and after a quick kiss on the cheek and a 'thank you', she was gone just as suddenly as she appeared.  He hadn't even been able to get a word in.  
  
_Things will go back to normal soon enough, _Raoul thought to himself.  Erik and the boy would leave in the near future and then the home's occupants would be reduced back to he and Christine.   
  
_For a while, anyway… _he thought in sly amusement, a smile crawling uncontrollably across his features.  
  
Ah, there we go…!  
  
That thought cheered him substantially.  To think, in a little more than half a year, he – of all people – would be a father!  It was something he never would have even considered possible about a year ago.  And even then, in a time just as short as four months, he still never would have believed it.  Sitting here, it was still difficult to believe the possibility of another topic -- he had won and had come out the victor in the war he had fought months and months for Christine.  The victory was sweet and it was everything he had hoped and prayed for since the first time he had seen her on that stage in Paris.  All his dreams had virtually come true and he could not think of anything more that could improve his life…  
  
He sighed, suddenly sad.  
  
_I wish Phillipe had lived to see this, _he thought. Never mind that Phillipe had threatened to disown him for courting a woman of the stage and then for the decision of marrying her. In time, he was sure that Phillipe would have been able to accept the proceedings.  Phillipe was forgiving like that…  
  
Raoul squeezed his tired eyes shut.  He had learned in these long months, that it was just best not to think of his brother or his untimely demise.  It hurt too much.  And, now, especially not now, it was a bad idea to think of him with Phillipe's killer residing in the house at his wife's behest.  
  
He sighed again and lifted his head to gaze into crackling fire once more.  
  
He would find no sleep tonight.  Everyone in the house would most likely be up all night anyway, and he would probably be too.  
  
A single thought consoled him, though.  
  
_Soon enough, everything will be back to normal… Soon enough…  
  
_*        *        *  
  
(A/N: Hah! An update! Take that, real life! We are honestly and deeply sorry for anyone who was or still is following this little phic!  We were forced to take up arms and defend ourselves against conspiring teachers, homework, real life in general, and writer's block. But, we're back!  As a side note, Lady Death would like to include the link to her website that has our "Odd Happenings" phanphic which, erhem, keeps finding us on the banned list of Fanfiction.net… It's in our bio, if anyone is interested.  Let's see, anything else? Ah, well, thank you, everyone for reading and all the reviews! They're absolutely marvelous and we love them to death! We're practically at out 100 review marker and most exited about it – we never thought we'd get this many! Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!  Eep… Sorry for this being so long…)


	10. Chapitre Dix

**Disclaimer:** We don't need to tell you this, but you know, it's just here.  We don't own 'Phantom of the Opera', though we would like to. That belongs to Gaston Leroux and the rest of the wonderful (or not so wonderful… * coughcoughFORSYTHEcoughcough*…) geniuses who have brought this story to life.  Don't bother suing us; we don't make a penny off this. 

**Summary: **A phic exploring the possibility of another person sharing Erik's face.  
  
**A Story of Love:** by Lady Death & L'Ange de Folie

  
*          *            *

"Hush, Lucie!  You can't really mean that!"   
  
"I most certainly do!  What do we know of him, after all?   Lurking around in that ridiculous mask and scaring everyone half to death.  One of _her _lot, no doubt.  And up to something shady, you mark my words!  You simply cannot trust people like that, my dear.  Not one bit.  What honest man covers his face?  He probably wears the mask so nobody will recognize him for the thief and vagabond that he is.  Wanted by the police, no doubt.  You know, I hear they found a dead man over at the faire the other night! Just where was our mysterious guest then, I ask you?"   
  
There was an audible gasp. "You don't mean…"   
  
"I wouldn't be the least bit surprised, child."   
  
Pursing her lips irritably, Christine bent over the simmering broth on the stove, determined to tune out the oblivious chattering of the pair in the other room.  Ignoring them was the best course of action she could take – Lucie had disliked her from the moment she had set foot in this house.  Requesting her to stop would remedy the situation only as long as the servant thought her employer's wife was in hearing range, but beyond that, the gossip would continue ten fold.  And besides that, Christine could not bring herself to consider dismissing this woman who had worked in the de Chagny household since before she had been born. 

The last vestiges of their conversation caught her ear through the thin kitchen door as they departed and Christine sighed.  While she had been relatively bothered by the remarks at first, she did not think upon them too deeply anymore. 

However, she could not help but feel somewhat rankled by the old woman's insistence upon passing such hurtful rumors about Erik along to the other members of the staff.  It hardly mattered if she were the topic, she was used to it, but she felt it incredibly far more vulgar, obscene, crude, and _infuriatingly_ distasteful when it was Erik they were discussing in such vicious measures behind his back.   

She wasn't sure they even any conceivable notion of what they were truly saying.  
  
She was sure, however, that by lunchtime, Aurélie would be  wholly infected by the propaganda, telling anyone who would listen that she'd seen Erik dragging the bodies out of the house herself.  Completely ridiculous – absolute moonshine – but if she happened to tell any of the village… or worse, if Erik should overheard her…!

  
She flushed with embarrassment. ****

  
Perhaps she would have a discussion with him about the regrettably insensitive and malicious nature of the servants before he chanced to overhear anything, as he always seemed to do in the natural progression of things.  It would be futile to think that such blatantly stentorian words would not reach his ears – everything always did. 

_"And how am I to go about presenting this to him?"_ She thought, running several possible scenarios over in her head.

She wasn't even sure of how Erik would react to the information.  His temper was so volatile and unforeseeable. Just when she was beginning to delude herself that she knew him well enough to predict such emotional explosions, something would always happen to destroy her beliefs and shatter her assumptions entirely… 

The chandelier… The torture chamber… And now… 

  
She could hold no illusions as to the identity of the man found dead at the fair or to his cause of death.  When she recalled the memory of the night, and it was obvious what had clandestinely transpired even if Erik hadn't been inclined to mention it. 

While she knew perfectly well what had happened, she felt it slightly bewildering for a moment to think that Erik had lethally disposed of another human being, right there, on the spot, no qualms, no fear of repercussions, while they stood outside.  And they returned home --  simply returned home as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.  And that was it.

Of all the killings Erik was reported to have made, in the back of her mind, Christine found it almost hard to believe that he had actually commit any of them at all.  It seemed inconceivable that her tutor, her angel, her friend, was also the heartless killer she had been warned of.  It was impossible in her mind to connect the two people.  It seemed to her as if Erik were a separate entity, only a relative of this Phantom of the Opera that had sent the ballet rats into titters of gleeful terror.  She had only ever really seen the gentle, benign side of him…

And after all, she hadn't ever actually _seen_ him murder anyone.  

She had never actually _seen_ that legendary Punjab lasso at work…   
  
…Not as if she honestly _wanted_ to, of course. 

Christine busied herself with the broth she had let sit.

 The very thought of Erik's well-suppressed, easily summoned, nearly undetectable homicidal alter ego sent an involuntary tremor down her spine.  
  
She felt horrible thinking these thoughts. Those ponderings -- accompanied now with the growing realization that she had inadvertently, yet essentially assisted in the murder -- gnawed at her conscience.  In her downward spiral of thought, she couldn't help but doubt her judgment in seeking out Erik for his help and expertise.    
  
Somehow, she felt she had always known that this would be the consequence of her decision, but never allowed herself to acknowledge that nagging fear.  She had convinced herself that the situation could be remedied entirely without violence and that their first excursion to the fair had been a random incident.  

She had trusted Erik to select an agenda to free the boy that would suit their needs without bloodshed.  But, unfortunately, it seemed that Erik's mind was not programmed to work with such an inhibition. 

And now another person was dead because of _her _and her poor judgment, and her idiotic faith that everything would work out perfectly; that they'd live happily ever after. 

She closed her eyes briefly.  

She of all people should know that stories never realistically ended like that.

Perhaps going to the police would have been a much better option – something more rational than romantic.  Perhaps it would have been better if she'd never gone to Erik about Edward…     
  
But if she hadn't gone to Erik, then the poor child would still be trapped in that awful place, and none of her best efforts could have even come close to the degree of success Erik had attained.  

Even if she had even managed just that, how would she be able to care for Edward?  She certainly couldn't have taken him home like some lost puppy and Raoul wouldn't have permitted his permanent residence for long.  If she had pleaded to any sort of official help they would have taken him away and sent him off to some orphan's asylum, which could be just as worse as where they had rescued him for all she knew.  
  
What she was willing to accept seemed impossible without Erik. 

She knew it sounded absolutely horrible and depraved, but if Aldo's death was the cost of Edward's freedom, then she had to consider it… 

It seemed a small enough price to pay… wasn't it?  
  
Yes, a small enough price to pay, that is, if the town didn't ascertain Erik's identity and get it into their heads to hang him… 

A mental image of Erik swinging from the gallows caused her to startle.

A chill ran through her body from that sudden, unexpectedly morbid thought and she realized that she had been uselessly standing there, holding the spoon motionless for some time. 

She hastened to collect a small bowl and carefully fill it with the broth she had been working to fit to Erik's exacting specifications from yesterday morning. She placed the meager meal down on a tray next to a few small slices of bread and a glass of water. 

Balancing the tray carefully, she nudged open the kitchen door as best she could and made her way around to the hall.

At the top of the staircase, her trembling hands caused a bit of the broth to spill over the edge of the bowl and dot the tray. With a sharp sigh, she paused to take a calming breath.

Considering the cause, it really wouldn't do for Erik -- or Edward, for that matter -- to see her so agitated. If she were to run into Erik as she had previously, and were he to notice her upset… 

She had never been able to hide anything from him. 

Ever.

He always seemed to know what was going on in her mind and sometimes it was unnerving.  Those golden eyes seemed to be able to peer so deep into her soul… those eyes that could regard her with benevolent care one moment and flash with evil intent the next --

She took another deep breath, pushing away the unpleasant thoughts. 

 Dwelling on murder and Erik in the same sentence was not a conductive thing to entertain at the moment.  In her sudden disquietude, she nearly dropped the tray.  Gently placing it on a hallway table, she did not wish to discover whether or not her hard work would complete a successful meeting with the floor.

She waited to regain her composure, striving to calm her trembling.

As she rested against the small table Christine found herself recalling something Raoul had told her earlier in their marriage.  ****

"There's nothing that can be done to change the past. All you're doing is causing yourself more pain."

The event had happened shortly after she and Raoul had married and moved away from gossiping, rumor-ridden Paris to this quiet little utopia.  Her waking hours had been filled with ecstatic happiness as she reveled in Raoul's eagerness to please, but when Raoul's light slipped away and Erik's darkness reigned supreme, she was plagued by guilt-ridden nightmares.

As Raoul had whispered soothingly to her one difficult night, she could not undo what she had done under the opera, nor could she now undo what had happened at the fair.

And he was absolutely right.  

She gathered the tray, and returned to a moving state.

Fretting over it wouldn't solve anything – it never did – though she realized it might very well alienate Erik when she needed him the most.  Erik had never necessarily been proud of his frightening ability to kill and she shouldn't exacerbate that fact by worrying and obsessing over it.  

Perhaps it was really none of her business, in the end.  She knew she was still quite unaware of the exact circumstances. 

Any number of things could have happened in that tent and she could hardly fault Erik if his life had been in danger at the time… it could have been, couldn't it?  The whole event could have been an instance of self-defense!

Though, if she could find the nerve…

Perhaps she would have to ask him about the details… 

Just for her peace of mind, of course…

While significantly more at ease than she had been before, she still hesitated outside the door to Edward's room.

She shuffled her feet, looking thoughtfully at the smooth grain door considering whether or not she should knock.  It was the polite thing to do of course, but at such an early hour in the morning she was sure he would still be asleep.  Erik had reassured her that Edward needed rest to heal and she certainly didn't want to wake him. 

Even if he was awake, it wasn't as if they'd be able to communicate.  It would be exceedingly awkward for the both of them. 

And he is still so terribly skittish.  He jumps and cringes away every time either of us so much as moves. I would hate to imagine how much something like an intrusion would frighten him…

Balancing the tray carefully on one hand, she quietly resolved to ease open the door.  
  
Inside, the room was dim, but not enough to make seeing impossible.  It wasn't the consummate blackness Erik preferred, but more of the soothing, caring shadow she associated with untroubled naps during times of leisure. A faint, tenuous beam of early morning sunlight shone through the partially opened curtains, revealing a small delicate form still buried soundly in the sheltering mound of blankets on the bed, a tousled mass of longish chestnut hair and one thin hand peeking out from underneath.  
  
A gentle smile crept across Christine's face as she stepped conservatively into the room, silencing her footsteps as best she could. She began to maneuver herself towards the bedside table, but she stopped almost immediately, her heart giving a small leap and taking up a terribly uncomfortable pounding in her chest upon the sight of another unexpected figure.

She peered into the room's depths with a sudden rush of fear and worry, but as her eyes adjusted more fully to the significantly darker environment, the person became clearer. 

She was highly surprised, even shyly amused at what she saw.

Slumped in an armchair directly across from the bed, head lolled to one side, and apparently still quite sound asleep, was Erik. 

Feeling pricelessly skittish, Christine ventured a diffident half step closer. 

He was still fully attired in his mask and the clothes he had worn the day before, his normally crisply pressed shirt wrinkled from sleep and wear.  He looked only politely disheveled, something never seen in the course of her existence due to near infatuation with the controllable aspects of his appearance. Christine couldn't help but regard the sight with quiet fascination.

He must have fallen asleep watching over Edward as he had spoken of doing so the previous night. It made her feel strangely content.

Somehow, catching Erik asleep thusly, as she had often caught her father napping on warm afternoons, made her mentor seem exceptionally and uncharacteristically normal. It was a marked difference from the nearly supernatural image he often presented -- of being beyond the need for such mortal necessities as sleep. 

The all powerful Opera Ghost. 

Christine resisted the urge to chuckle at the title. Of course she should know better than to allow herself to fall under such pretenses. Really, it was the kind of thing Meg or Jammes would say. She wondered idly what either of them would say, were they able to see him now, sound asleep in a chair.

It was not a terrible sight, overall, Christine concluded. Of course, she assumed he didn't usually sleep in the mask. In the safety of his own home or in private, she knew he wouldn't wear his mask more than was absolutely necessary… 

I've never seen him asleep before… 

The thought struck her quite suddenly. He had always risen before her for as along as she had known him, and it was quite probable it was to avoid just this sort of situation.

 What would he think of her if he awoke now and caught her staring at him – gawking?

It would be best to leave before she discovered for certain and spare them all that potential embarrassment.

As quietly as she could possibly manage, Christine crept across the room toward the small nightstand next to the bed, absurdly grateful for the carpeting which silenced her footsteps. 

Carefully arranging the tray where it would be seen, Christine prepared to leave. At the door she paused to take a last look at the pair, a smile creeping across her face.

Edward was in good hands and Erik would be the attentive, patient mentor she had always known him to be.  Things would turn out all right.

She listened intently; Erik's soft, steady breathing was just barely audible, mingled with the even quieter breathing of the figure in the bed.  It was a wonderfully peaceful sound, almost lulling her toward sleep herself.  Perhaps she would take an early morning nap before she proceeded with the day.  Yes, that sounded nice…

It was an act of ultimate will power to back silently out of the room, shutting the door behind her with a nearly imperceptible click.

*          *            *

(A/N: Yes, yes, yes… we know, we know, _we know_… we apologize (re: grovel) for the absolutely _appalling_ lack of updating we have done (re: none) in these past months, (re: ten).  We have a spectacularly immodest list of excuses for you ranging from chapter-specific writer's block, to the immortal complaint of schoolwork; from the demands of real life, and to carpel tunnel, to pitifully mention a few.  

Not that we haven't been working on this phic, though!  This poor, particular chapter has been written and rewritten about twice now in a couple different directions, and this is unfortunately the closest we can come to something coherent.  It's a dud. It's long, it's lengthy, it's Christine angst -- we're sorry! Don't hurt us!

However, we do have _some _direction planned for the phic, and we haven't been _entirely_ lazy and stagnant for we have _several_ other phics in queue, with actual – whole – chapters (imagine that!) waiting for their turn… just had to give this bunny a little break.  But, we're getting back with it!  Just need to get past a couple pacing chapters before things kick up. (Readers: "Get on with it!" )

Yes, yes, we're very sorry and very aware this sounds incredibly whiny and is amounting to length as long the chapter itself… * hides * )


End file.
